Fire From the Sky
Author: N. C. Reed
Date: 2019-05-09 22:00:00+00:00
Description: Post-Apocalyptic Fiction by N.C. Reed Clayton Sanders left home the minute he had his high school diploma in hand. He waited that long only because the Army wouldn't accept him without one. Now, ten years later, he's home. Home with no warning, no advance notice, no anything after being gone ten years with almost no contact with his family. Home carrying a secret that is burning him up from the inside. A secret that has pushed him to the brink, forcing him to become a criminal in order to be where his family needs him to be, even though they don't realize it yet. Because Clayton knows somethin
Publisher: Creative Texts Publishers, LLC

FIRE FROM

THE SKY

BOOK SIX

FIRE FROM THE SKY: BOOK 6: FRIENDLY FIRE
by N.C. REED

Published by Creative Texts Publishers

PO Box 50

Barto, PA 1950a
www.creativetexts.com

Copyright 2019 by N.C. REED

All rights reserved

Cover photos used by license.

Design copyright 2019 Creative Texts Publishers, LLC

The Fire From the Sky Logo is a trademark of Creative Texts Publishers, LLC

This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual names, persons, businesses, and incidents is strictly coincidental. Locations are used only in the general sense and do not represent the real place in actuality.

ISBN: 978-0-578-51060-6

FIRE FROM

THE SKY

BOOK SIX

N.C. Reed

For the Ranger, I hope you can see what I've done.

For the Clerk, I hope you're proud of me.

For the Chef. . .damn I miss you, man.

This has been one of the most exhausting projects I have done so far. So much drama, so many changes and so much realignment in order to get to the next part of the story. There were times I wanted to scream in frustration and a few times when I just wanted to quit.

But those of you who were waiting for this book, you kept me going.

Thank you.

No project like this is made in a vacuum. Without assistance from different areas and sources, there wouldn't be a book. Or an N.C. Reed, for that matter. As always, I have to thank my wife and nephew who are my sounding board. When they say something like 'well, I don't know', what that really means is 'you should probably redo that'.

(you didn't know I was a translator, did you? Ha!)

They also take up the slack when I'm trying to write twelve hours a day. I literally couldn't do it without them.

Thanks are also due to Creative Texts and the team there who try their best to make me look like a real writer.

Man, have they got their work cut out for them.

Thanks Dan. I appreciate it.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

PROLOGUE

I-65, North of Decatur, Alabama

Clifford Laramie disengaged the line carrying fuel from the tanker he was driving to the school bus he had been fueling and looked up at his 'boss'.

“That's it, Shane,” he said softly. “She's dry as a bone.”

“Everyone full up, though?” Shane asked, clearly running numbers in his head.

“Everyone but me,” Clifford nodded. “I'm at three-quarters full. With the tank empty, we could drain the fuel from the truck and leave it here,” he suggested.

“Not enough working rigs left in the world now that we can afford to abandon one,” Shane shook his head, pulling a map from his vest. “We're here,” he showed the fuel truck driver. “And we're headed about here,” he traced his finger up the road to a small map dot that said 'JORDAN'. “Can you make it?”

“Assuming nothing happens, then yes,” Clifford nodded as he carried the fueling line to the truck and stored it. “It's not that far in favorable conditions.”

“I doubt conditions ahead are any more favorable than they have been,” Shane's voice and look were grim. “But we are nearing the end of the journey. That has to count for something I hope,” he sighed.

“You seem awful sure about this guy, and this place,” Clifford mused. “How well you know him?”

“We all served together,” Shane didn't take offense. Everyone on this convoy was taking a huge leap of faith. “We all concocted this plan together, and then worked to get the money to make it possible. Once we figured out it wasn't going to be a nuke exchange, us four decided we'd stay closer to home. As you can recall, that was a mistake.”

“Miscalculation is more accurate I'd say,” Clifford finished securing the line, locking it in place. “No one could have seen all that coming, man.”

“Maybe,” Shane nodded slowly. “Regardless, here we are. Bossman is our fall back. He's better situated than we were, ultimately. We should have come here when Bear and the others did,” he shook his head slowly.

“Well, I'm kinda glad you didn't, to be honest,” Clifford admitted. “’Cause I'd still be in the middle of that war.”

“Suppose so,” Shane sighed. “All right. We're fueled up. Time to head out. Sooner we get there, the sooner we might be able to relax even if it's just a day.”

“I’ll take it,” Clifford nodded, crawling back into the tanker truck. “I’ll take it.”

Shane was already moving back to his own vehicle. He keyed his radio as he went.

“Rattler to all units. Fueling complete. We are on the road in five. All units check in.” He listened as each vehicle in the small convoy checked in as ready to travel.

“Rattler from Red, come back.” Shane sighed. Red was riding drag on this one.

“Go for Rattler.”

“We definitely have a hyena behind us,” Red reported cryptically. “Two in fact. At least two Tangos in each. They are watching us from that last overpass just now.”

“Roger that,” Shane sighed. The two vehicles had been with them off and on for two days now. He had hoped at first that it was just someone else that had managed to keep vehicles running, but that now appeared to be unlikely.

“We need to shake them off sooner than later,” Red added unnecessarily. Shane shook his head at Red's never-ending eagerness to shed blood.

“Affirmative,” Shane replied. “But we need to throw off anyone they're reporting to. Rally up,” he ordered everyone to move to his position.

“Moving.”

“Son-of-a-bitch.”

***

“Okay,” Shane had his map spread over the hood of an abandoned Cadillac left on the Interstate. “We are here,” he pointed to a spot on the map. “There is an overpass here,” he pointed to a spot ten miles down the road. “We need to get a unit up there and make sure the area is clear, then make sure that the hyenas see us leaving the Interstate. We’ll lay an ambush there and try to take them without their having time to report in. If we can, then whoever they are talking to may assume we continued down this road,” he traced the Alabama State Highway on the map.

“We could be riding into an ambush ourselves, here,” Kevin Bodee noted. He was one of the old team members, and went by the call sign Arrow. He had taken a lot of ribbing over his 'handle' when they had returned from darkest Africa to see a television show bearing that same name.

“That's why we need someone to run ahead and check it out,” Shane resisted the urge to rub the bridge of his nose. “We’ll send one of the cop cars up there to make sure it's clear. If they have something that will take it out then we're in for a fight that will probably end our trip anyway.” Their group had plenty of ordnance. What they didn't have was an abundance of people who could use it.

“Assuming it's clear, we let them see us taking the ramp up,” Shane continued. “We send Wilcox with the rest back down the on ramp on the other side and let them idle there while we wait for our friends. If they follow us then we hammer them flat while Wilcox leads the rest on up the road at a slow pace, say 20 kilometers an hour. Once we're finished we mount up and catch up. If we manage to get them quick enough, then whoever they're working for, assuming there's more, will think we took off down this highway,” he traced State Highway 231 East. “Even if they decide we didn't go that way, it will buy us some time.”

“And if there's too many?” Stacy Pryor asked thoughtfully. His official nickname was 'Straight Razor' due to the fact that he carried a straight razor in his boot and was prone to use it as often in combat as he was in shaving, saying he 'learned it from his favorite uncle'. He normally answered to 'Straight Edge' or just 'Edge'. “For all we know there are a bunch of them back down the line. Or hell, ahead of us for that matter. I don't know about this, Shane.”

“Got any better ideas?” Shane asked him. “We can't lead this bunch to Bossman's place no matter what. That means we gotta get these fleas off our back and the sooner we do it the better off we are.”

“I'm not saying it's a bad plan,” Stacy admitted. “I'm just saying we need to consider what can go wrong. And being outnumbered or overwhelmed is very wrong.”

“I'm not really concerned about a bunch of redneck amateurs out-performing us,” Xavier said calmly. “We've seen only two vehicles thus far. If they try to follow and report in, then there's no problem. Even if they call for help first, there would have to be a great many of them.”

“And there just might be a 'great many of them',” Stacy was nodding as if Xavier had made the point for him. Xavier Adair, call sign 'Red', was from somewhere on the east coast, above D.C. His speech and accent placed him in a high society east coast family, but 'X' as he was usually called was not forthcoming about his background past his joining the Army. It was obvious he had a good education and excellent upbringing, but he was careful to avoid any mention of his background. As for why he had left such an environment to join the army and ultimately become part of the CTG element, well . . . X had some . . . issues. To put it nicely. He wouldn't care if there were a hundred of whoever were following them. In fact, he might prefer it.

Stacy didn't, and he was fairly certain Shane wouldn't either.

“Look,” Shane exercised as much patience as he could. “We have to stop this. Here, preferably. We can't let them keep following us and that's just the way it is. The closer we let them get to Bossman's place, the easier it will be for them to find his place, and us. So stop this shit, and give me workable ideas and not a bunch of biting and scratching. I'd really like to make it today, and maybe sleep without an eye open tonight.”

“Easiest thing to do is booby trap an area behind us and let them drive into it,” Kevin Bodee offered a simple solution. “Remote detonate some C4 on some of these abandoned cars and catch the followers in the blasts. Maybe use Claymores instead, or with them. There's a lot to work with out here on this highway. No reason not make use of it.”

“Puncture some gas tanks in the blast area,” Stacy Pryor agreed with a slow nod. “Create a FAE (fuel-air environment) type of environment. Even if we don't get them all, we’ll still slow them down if not stop them altogether. And we only risk whoever stays to detonate the explosives.”

“I’ll do it,” Xavier said at once, surprising no one.

Shane considered everything for a minute, then nodded once.

“All right. If we do this with the ambush, we can't run ahead and do it because it's too dangerous for the convoy to drive through all those vapors, assuming there's any gas to be found in these cars,” Shane was tapping the map with an index finger as he spoke. “But . . . someone can get ahead, find a good spot and set the charges. X wants to drop the hammer, but he needs a sidekick.”

“I’ll go,” Bodee said a second later. “Or stay. Whatever,” he shrugged. “We can find a good place where the cars that died are placed just so and set everything up. We’ll take one of the cop cars and leave you with the other?” he asked Shane.

“Yeah,” Shane agreed slowly. “Yeah, that's probably best, I guess. I was thinking of using the Hummer since it would be faster, but you guys might need the firepower.”

“Let’s gather our gear and be on our way then,” Xavier's cultured drawl finished the meeting. “We will notify you as soon as we've located a suitable position. We can use the next mile marker as a bulls-eye and then notify you where we are with the most recent marker we have passed. That will give you an idea where we are.”

“Works,” Shane nodded, folding the map. “You guys don't work too far ahead, though, okay?” he added. “If we get hit before we can set this up, we may need you to ride in and save the day.”

“We’ll mind it,” Bodee agreed. “Let’s go, X.”

***

Shane gave the two a five minute head start before starting the convoy moving again. With Xavier gone, Shane had taken the rear guard in the remaining Cop Car. He snorted as he realized he was actually mentally capitalizing the letters in Cop Car. They had jokingly referred to the vehicles as such when they had first . . . acquired them.

The vehicles in question were two M1117 Guardian Armored Security Vehicles, MRAP security vehicles used by Military Police units to patrol areas that were still contested by irregular forces or rebels. Based on an old armored car design from the 1960s, the Guardians were far too light to stand up to front line combat as an armored vehicle, but were perfect for use by MP units who used them for patrol, prisoner transports and for guard duty at sensitive installations. They were both better and worse than the Cougar MRAP in that the Guardian was fairly heavily armed and easy to maneuver, but was not quite as hardy when it came to surviving such weapons as RPG blasts. As with almost any military vehicle, it was good for some uses and unsuited for others.

For the small convoy traveling across a broken country, the two Guardians had been a literal life saver more than once. Shane had used them exclusively as lead and trail units for the convoy, and more than once an ambush or trap had been evaded or outright destroyed by the presence of the two units. A convoy like theirs, with so many 'soft' targets, was bound to attract attention in a new world where moving vehicles were now a rarity. Armed with both a heavy and a medium machine gun as well as an automatic grenade launcher, the Guardians were well suited for the job of guarding the convoy.

And now Shane watched as half that armored component and one third of his trained fighting strength rapidly disappeared down the road to their front. He knew that this was the best option for shaking their followers off, but that didn't mean he had to like it. As weak as they might be when all together, splitting up just made it worse. But needs must and all that.

“We're rolling,” Shane heard former Staff Sergeant Virgil Wilcox over the radio. Wilcox was leading the convoy now in their armored Hummer which mounted a Browning heavy machine gun. His driver was a nineteen-year-old drifter named Kurtis Montana. Wilcox had been part of the 3rd Cavalry when Shane and his party had moved through Killeen Texas, where Fort Hood was located. The area had been good to their group, adding Wilcox and a few others to their number along with a good bit of equipment and supplies.

“Roger that,” Shane replied. “Keep it close, people. And be sharp eyed. Things are about to get interesting.”

The rest of the convoy replied in order. Behind Wilcox in the Hummer came a heavily armored Army semi, an Oshkosh 1070 pulling an equally heavily armored trailer. Two identical trucks followed that one, also pulling armored trailers. It had been primarily these three trucks that had caused the convoy to move so slowly, but the cost had been worth it. The lead truck had a trailer loaded to the ceiling with pallet’s of dry goods, MREs, field gear and other equipment that had either been purchased before the Event or . . . liberated from Fort Hood, Texas.

The two following trucks were carrying trailers equally full of ordnance. Explosives, weapons, munitions, mines, the list was exhaustive as money or thievery could make it. The heavily armored trailers that had slowed them down were a must for transporting such a dangerous cargo.

Next in line were two forty-foot motor homes, each pulling a thirty-foot box trailer filled with food and personal possessions belonging to the group. One of the motor homes also served as a communications and control vehicle, monitoring as many radio frequencies as possible to see if anyone nearby was talking and, if so, what they were saying. The storage areas of the motor homes were also completely loaded with cargo, making them nearly as ponderous as the semis they followed.

Behind the motor homes was yet another semi-truck, this one a civilian model, hauling a trailer full of canned goods and freeze-dried foods.

Next was a flatbed hauler carrying two 4x4 MRAP vehicles, close cousins to the six-wheel variants already in use at the Sanders' farm and acquired from the same source and at the same time. Both vehicles were also loaded full of supplies. Shane would have loved to have had the two Cougar four-wheel drives on the ground, armed and protecting the convoy, but simply lacked the manpower to make it happen. When they had 'found' the two Guardians, he had reluctantly trailered the Cougars until they reached their final destination. The two vehicles were still pulling their weight as they were loaded with spare parts, tools and accessories to keep the convoy vehicles running.

Another flatbed hauler followed the loaded MRAPs, this one carrying a tarped down armored vehicle with a small attached trailer. This vehicle was a damaged M1133 Stryker ambulance with transmission problems. Initially Shane had balked at wasting one of the few drivers they had on hauling a damaged vehicle, but two of the people who joined them in Killeen were U.S. Army Doctor Captain Jaylyn Thatcher and her husband Roddy, a truck driver. The good doctor had insisted that the armored ambulance still had worth, especially considering that a mechanic with the proper tools and parts could make it operational again and that the ambulance provided a good platform for caring for injured people.

Captain Thatcher hadn't hurt her argument any when she had revealed that the Stryker was jammed full of medical supplies, either. While Shane's group had medical equipment, they had no real medical personnel and their supplies reflected that. There was no reason to carry equipment and supplies that you had no knowledge of, at least not when every pound counted. Captain Thatcher was far better than merely a medic, however, and her husband would use his own truck to pull it while the Captain would drive a motor home, freeing up someone who could handle one of the semi-trucks carrying ordnance. The game of musical steering wheels had aggravated Shane to no end at first, but he had to admit that the Captain's skills and gear were worth the trouble.

The next vehicle was the now empty tanker, another military model. While it was tempting to leave it now that it was empty, Shane knew that the odds of finding another working truck and serviceable tanker module were practically null, while there was always the slightest possibility of finding usable fuel, slim though the odds might be. Thus the tanker would stay with them.

Lastly came a nearly new Bluebird school bus conversion. Repainted olive drab green, only the very front row of seats remained in the vehicle. Two sets of bunk beds had been secured to the floor and walls in the rear of the bus, while the remainder of the former seating area consisted of fenced walls holding various boxes and tubs of goods stacked all the way to the roof and strapped down for transit.

“All right, Sienna,” Shane said to his driver, former Lieutenant Sienna Newell, an Army Military Police officer and the person responsible for their having the two Guardians. “Let’s bring up the rear. I’ll keep an eye behind while you watch the front.”

“Got it,” the confident young woman replied and the Guardian pulled onto the highway in a loose trail behind the bus.

If we can catch a break or two, I just might get to sleep tonight, Shane thought to himself as he sank into the hatch to hide the large binoculars he used to search for their shadow.

***

“This looks promising,” Kevin Bodee said as he slowed the Guardian MRAP. They were approaching a tangled mess of vehicles that left one small, clear lane through. Xavier nodded to himself, also liking the layout.

“I think you're right, Kevin,” he said softly. “Though I seriously doubt there is any fuel left in these vehicles to work out the FAE part of the ambush now that I've thought about it.”

“We've got five gallons in a jerry can,” Kevin reminded him. “We can pour that in between that truck and that old Pontiac over there,” he was out of the hatch now and pointing.

“Yes, that might be just fine,” Xavier agreed. “Very well. I’ll call Rattler and let him know where we are. Let’s get our gear and start working. There's a small rise about a half-mile north of here. We should be able to sit there and detonate by radio, yes?”

“Sounds like a fine idea,” Bodee was grinning. “One flea trap, coming up.”

***

“Okay people, keep it slow and steady,” Shane reminded the convoy as they approached the narrow gap through the traffic jam. He could see Kevin using the Guardian to muscle a large utility truck into an open spot in the median, making the gap the convoy was using the only way through. He nodded in appreciation of the location his men had chosen and the work they had done.

The convoy eased through the gap, Xavier guiding them through with hand signals. Shane could see the gas can sitting nearby and knew what Xavier and Kevin had planned. He grinned, shaking his head slowly at their ingenuity. He turned to look behind them, the oversize glasses coming in handy. The flat terrain and the power of the glasses let him see something the size of a moving car at just over a mile away. He ordered Sienna to slow as they reached Xavier's position.

“About a mile behind and keeping pace,” Shane called down. Xavier smiled and nodded, waving as the last vehicle moved on. He waited until Kevin had moved the Guardian away before he began splashing gasoline down the narrow gap left between wrecked and abandoned vehicles. He almost tossed the can away before remembering that there was no more Giant PX to get something like it replaced. Instead he capped the empty can and carried it at a slow run to the waiting MRAP. As soon as he was aboard, Kevin hit the gas and they were moving.

Just far enough away to watch.

***

Emily Shirley wasn't quite sulking as she sat in the passenger seat of her 'command vehicle', an ancient Dodge truck that was still running after the CME. Her driver, Eugene, was an annoying, acne covered jerk who spent as much time as he possibly could ogling her while talking a line of shit a mile wide.

The equally old van following them had the rest of her 'squad', three more men and another woman. Two of the other men were almost as worthless as Eugene but the other man and the woman, a friend of Emily's from before the event, were competent and trustworthy.

All six of them belonged to a MAG, or Mutual Assistance Group, that had formed long before the CME had struck the planet, their goal to be prepared for just such a time or emergency as this one. But their plans had not been complete enough. While their planners had foreseen and even planned for a solar flare or CME, they had not planned effectively for such a powerful event as had hit the Earth this time. It seemed as though the world had actually stopped spinning since literally everything had stopped.

For a short time it hadn't mattered. The MAG was large, but also well provisioned and situated. A large compound that had once been a working farm, complete with underground shelters and massive supply rooms full of long term foods, canned goods, ammunition and other supplies that the Powers That Be had determined they would need in an End of the World scenario.

But they had been wrong about how much would be needed for such a large group. They had also been mistaken in believing that all of their electronics were thoroughly protected from a solar event, resulting in the loss of much of their radio equipment and a great many of their conveniences that were supposed to make post-disaster living more comfortable. And they had sorely miscalculated how badly people would react, would behave, when their safety net came unraveled.

The North Alabama People's Militia MAG had started modestly with a few people combining their resources to buy the farm and refinish it for survival in any conditions that would allow survival. Their number had slowly increased as trustworthy individuals had been encountered and a second generation of the founders had been added. In recent years awareness of the 'prepper' lifestyle had led to an uptick in people who wanted to be among those who were 'ready', which had seen the MAG numbers swell considerably, with membership sitting at just over three hundred at the time of the CME.

In the early days, once they were established and everyone that was coming had made it to the farm, the MAG had relaxed, satisfied they were safe until things returned to normal. A few of the more seriously involved individuals had warned the that 'normal' wasn't going to return and they should be prepared for a new normal condition, including preparing for a lifestyle more suited to late nineteenth century living. Equipment that would keep them modern for the moment would eventually wear out and there would be no replacements.

Their warnings fell on deaf ears as the MAG leadership and members continued to burn through supplies and misuse equipment, drawing more from those same large storehouses whenever they wanted.

Until those storehouses began to look . . . barren.

The leadership had cracked down hard on misuse and overuse of supplies but it was far too late. Stores meant to last for two years were blown through in just five months due to waste and continued ignoring of the plans made for rationing and continued operations. The end result was that their 'lavish' survival lifestyle had crashed in February, leaving the entire group on short rations and with short tempers. Tempers that had often flared into arguments, dissension and even outright violence among members as those who had carefully hoarded their own meager supplies were accused of theft, violating the rules and so forth.

Left short on everything except guns and ammunition, the MAG had turned to raiding outside the farm for the food they needed to sustain their numbers and support they lifestyle. From the very beginning, the one thing that had gone to plan was their training. 'Whipping them into shape', as her uncle had put it. Right from the start members had been separated into groups called 'platoons', and a rigorous training schedule had been adopted. No one was exempt. As the members of the group were trained up, ostensibly to better defend themselves, they were reminded that the strong survive, while the weak fall into the dust. It became a mantra for them as they worked. The group was strong and they were prepared. They were hardened against failure. They would survive.

If that meant they had to take from the weak, well . . . the strong survive and the weak fall into the dust. It wasn't their fault if their victims were too weak to survive. They would take what they needed, their right to do so assured and guaranteed by their own strength.

Now, 'squads' such as Emily Shirley's were out on patrol and searching for targets, preferably easy ones. Targets just like the small convoy they had been following for the last two days.

“They're heading somewhere,” her 'commander' had said when she reported in. “Trail them and find out where. Once you do, we’ll hit their base and take it all.”

And so she had spent the last two days putting up with Eugene's not so subtle hints that he really liked her body and thought she was really hot and considering their families' prominence in the group they should get together and blah, blah, blah.

Emily hadn't thought too far into the future when her uncle had approached her about the MAG. She was into the outdoors already and once he explained that the MAG was basically a really complex outdoor activity and hunting club, she was sold. When the shit had hit the fan, her own abilities and her family connections had placed her in the slot of 'squad leader', a position of minor authority but with perks of its own, including a small private cabin. She had reaped the benefits of that position gladly until it came time to travel outside the compound. She had balked at first but her uncle had reminded her that she had, indeed, enjoyed her position up to now and it was time to give back.

They had hit convoys such as the one they now followed before, though their current target was more heavily armed than any of the others, and far less sloppy in their operations. She had found that killing other survivors didn't bother her like she had thought, it being far easier to take from others than to do without herself. She had discovered a cruel streak in herself to go along with an innate selfishness that had guided most of her decisions in life, and she saw no need to ignore that or try to change it. It was serving her well so far.

This convoy was a fat target in and of itself, and it might lead them to an even bigger target which in turn would mean greater rewards for her. As the squad leader that had found the target she would get a good share of the bounty and possibly, since she had other victories behind her as well, a promotion. As the promotion would get her away from Eugene, it would be worth almost as much as the goods she would be allowed to pick as her share.

“Gap up ahead,” Eugene noted, pausing in his low, off-key singing of an old song called 'Eugene, You Genius', apparently convinced the song was written about him.

“I see it,” she nodded. “We gained on them a little. Better back off a bit until we get some more distance. They had to slow down to get through here with those rigs.”

“Wonder what we’ll find on those trucks,” Eugene said as he slowed. “Outfit like that should have some neat stuff. Maybe find me a woman or two,” he leered at her. “Don't be jealous though, Shirl. They may get my body but you know my heart is yours.”

“Oh, thank you,” Emily's sarcasm was thick. “What I always wanted.”

“I knew you wanted me,” he shot back as he began to thread his way through the gap. “Does this look wet to you?”

She ignored him at first, convinced he was making some kind of dirty remark which he was famous for. Her uncle had made it clear that killing Eugene was forbidden as his father was one of the founding members and a very powerful man among their group, so she had to tolerate the little bastard no matter how badly she might want-

“Do you smell that?” Eugene asked, breaking her thought process. “That smells like-”

“Stop!” Emily shouted just before the world caught fire.

***

“About now, I should think,” Xavier said calmly, watching the approaching vehicles through his own powerful binoculars. Kevin replied by hitting the switch on the electronic detonator in his hand.

Using the gasoline had enhanced the effectiveness of the two Claymores and four additional pounds of Semtex placed beneath fenders and fuel tanks on a half dozen vehicles in the tangled automotive mess. The explosives were probably enough alone to do the job but the vapors they ignited and the fire they started finished the job. As Xavier watched the ancient pickup that had been in the front of their pursuers rolled slowly out of the small inferno, flames licking at it on all sides.

The passenger door opened suddenly and a lone figure emerged, walking perhaps five steps before collapsing in the road, rather obviously fighting for breath.

“Well now,” Xavier's voice carried a tone that Kevin Bodee knew far too well. “What an interesting if somewhat unexpected development.”

“X,” Kevin said, a note of warning creeping into his tone. Not threatening, but instead suspicious.

“I was just mentioning how fortuitous this is,” Xavier replied calmly.

“The more fancy you talk, the more worried I get,” Kevin said. “We're supposed to boogie now that the deed is done.”

“Yes, I know,” Xavier answered, ignoring Kevin's dig about his speech pattern. “However, this might be a golden opportunity to gather intelligence,” the tiniest bit of excitement crept into his voice. “We should not let it go to waste.”

Below him, Kevin Bodee sighed. He had known as soon as the guy had exited the truck that this was going to happen.

“We will watch for a bit and make sure nothing else escapes,” Xavier decreed. “Then, assuming that gentleman is still alive, we shall move in, collect him and be on our way.”

***

Emily Shirley couldn't hear anything except the ringing in her ears. He vision was blurry, though from smoke or the impact of the explosion she didn't know. Gasping for air, she finally managed to sit up somewhat and looked back at her vehicle.

The Dodge was completely immolated with fire and she could see what was left of Eugene slowly melting away in the heat. Forcing down a gag she turned to look for the van, hoping that it had escaped the blast.

It hadn't. Flames were showing from every window and the windshield had been blown out. Through the flames she could see two bodies in the front seats. While she couldn't see the back, all the doors were still closed, probably welded shut by now. In a flash of fire she had lost her entire group and their vehicles. Everyone, some of them friends and all of them her responsibility, gone.

“What the hell?” she shook her head slowly, hoping to somehow mitigate the ringing in her ears. The ringing was probably why she didn't hear anyone coming up behind her. All she felt was a hard blow to the back of the head and then the world went away.

***

“Huh. A woman. How about that?” Kevin said as they secured her in the rear of the MRAP, hogtied with flex cuffs.

“Indeed,” Xavier nodded. “And I do believe she was the leader of this little cult as well,” he added, looking at the documents he had taken from her pockets. “Radio frequencies and codes,” he waved a small notebook. “Map of checkpoints as well, also with code names,” he indicated the map. “We may have caught a very lucky break here, Kevin. She can tell us a great deal about who she works for.”

“Assuming she talks,” Kevin agreed.

“Oh, she will,” Xavier smiled coldly.

“Looks like the rest are toast,” Kevin said. “Literally in this case,” he added with a dry chuckle. “I'd say the job is done.”

“One might even say 'well done',” Xavier nodded, getting another laugh from Kevin. “Time to go. Let us catch up to the group so we can move on. I would enjoy making it to Bossman's farm before dark. Almost as much as I would like to sleep somewhere besides in here, even if just one night at least.”

Two minutes later they were headed north, their prisoner secured in the passenger compartment. Behind them, the fire burned on.

CHAPTER ONE

Clay tossed and turned through the night, his mind refusing to relinquish the thoughts he'd had when he went to bed. Finally, jarred awake by nothing for the third time in an hour he got to his feet, turning to find Lainie wide awake, head propped on her hand as she watched him.

“Wanna tell me what's bothering you?” she asked him.

“I . . . I really don't know, other than a rude wake-up call about the state of the world outside our little slice of heaven,” Clay admitted.

“Meaning what, exactly?” she asked him, sitting up in the bed.

“Friends of ours are on their way in from even further away than Jose and the others traveled,” he told her. “They were the other members of the team who had decided to ride things out where they felt more at home. Only now . . . now they're less than a day away and heading here as fast as they can travel. All Shane would say over the radio was that things had, and I quote, 'gone to hell in a handbag', and that forced them to head our way. We were their back up plan. Or at least the only one that remained viable, anyway. I don't know any more than that for now. But it made me realize how little we know about what's happening around the rest of the area, let alone the rest of the country. Do you realize we haven't heard one iota of news from even places like Lewiston, which is just over the tree line practically?”

“I did, but I hadn't really thought about it,” she admitted. “I mean we've had our hands full around here from almost the start of things. That hasn't left a lot of time to worry about anything else.”

“Exactly, and I admit that when I hatched this plan I didn't care about the rest,” he nodded slowly. “Thing is, like I told Leon, I'm starting to think that wasn't the smartest move. It looked and sounded good at the time, but now . . . ”

“Now you're second guessing it,” Lainie nodded slowly. “I get it. But honestly, what can we do about it, regardless of whether we know or not?”

“Leon said the same thing,” Clay told her. “And he's right. There's plenty of worry laying around here, as he put it, without me borrowing worry from somewhere else. The thing is though, I can't help think about it now that it's been brought to my attention.”

“My poor Cowboy,” she stood, allowing the covers to fall away. “I take it you aren't going to be able to get back to sleep?” she caressed his face.

“No,” he sighed in aggravation. “And I really wanted to sleep, too.”

“Then let’s do something else,” she looked at the digital clock on the nightstand. “It will be light in an hour or so. We’ll get ready and just enjoy the sunrise and early morning until your friends get here. How's that sound?”

“It sounds like a fine plan,” he smiled dimly. “One I can get behind.”

“Good.”

***

“You two are out early,” Gordy said as Clay and Lainie made their way down toward the radio room. Gordy was on ground watch.

“Tell me about it,” Clay nodded. “Can't sleep.”

“I hear we're getting some company?” Gordy asked.

“Supposed to,” Clay nodded. “Possibly even in the next few hours depending on whether they make good time or not. The rest of my old team from my Africa days, in fact.”

“Man, that will be a big help around here,” Gordy gave a low whistle. “Between that and the group going through training now, that will strengthen this place a lot.”

“And we may need it, listening to Rattler talk about why they're running this way,” Clay nodded.

“Rattler?” Gordy asked.

“If you hear him, it's too late,” Clay nodded. “He's fast. Inhumanly fast it seems sometimes. Carries knives all over him and can hit you with one before you can blink.”

“Damn,” Gordy nodded in appreciation.

“Exactly,” Clay chuckled slightly. “Anyway, that's where he got the name. He says that things are bad to the west and getting worse, which is why they're headed here instead of staying in their own area like they planned originally.”

“Define bad,” Gordy frowned.

“Can't until he gets here,” Clay replied. “He didn't elaborate, and the longer you're on the air the more time someone has to find you. We’ll know later on today unless something keeps them from getting here.”

“Could something stop them?” Lainie asked.

“It would take more than a lot of stopping,” Clay admitted, “but they are just four guys. Six if you count the 'plus two', guys with them we may not know.”

“Well, I hope they make it in okay,” Gordy said thoughtfully. “I'd really like to know what's happening.”

***

It was just after eleven o'clock when Jody called.

“Bossman, we got traffic. From Jordan. Multiple vehicles.”

“Roger that,” Clay called back. “Plate, sound the alarm, just in case.”

“Plate copies,” JJ replied at once and seconds later the alarms began to go out. Soon people were running to places with rifles in hand. Clay was joined by Jose Juarez and the two of them walked out to the roadway to await developments.

“Think this is them?” he asked.

“Hope so,” Clay nodded. “If not then we're in for a fight, most likely.”

“Surely we can get a day or two without that now that the good Citizen's Committee is gone,” Jose rolled his eyes.

“Hope so,” Clay repeated. “But I can't count on it, much as I'd like to.”

They waited in silence after that, each keeping his own thoughts as they listened to the sound of approaching vehicles. Several of them. Finally, the first vehicle came into view.

“Now where in the hell did he get that?” Jose broke the silence first.

'That' was an M1117 Armored Security Vehicle, still bearing the shield of the MP unit it had belonged to. It was fully armed apparently, with barrels of an M2 Browning machine gun and a Mk 19 40mm grenade launcher visible protruding from the turret of the armored vehicle.

“I don't know, but I like the look of it,” Clay admitted. “I wonder what else he stole.”

“You just jump to the conclusion that he stole it,” Jose raised an eyebrow. “Maybe he bought it.”

“Like you bought two Cougars?” Clay raised his own eyebrow. “Please.”

“Hey, we paid for those,” Jose objected. “All right, fine,” he amended at the look he received from his boss. “He probably stole it. But he did buy some stuff. In fact, if I remember right they bought two four-by-four model Cougars the same time Big Bear got ours. From the same guy Big Bear used as a procurement officer.”

“Well I hope you got a group discount,” Clay chuckled lightly.

They watched as the collection of vehicles made their way to the farm.

“Rat needs to learn how to count,” Jose remarked after a minute. “Didn't he say eleven vehicles?”

“And there's thirteen,” Clay nodded. “I'm willing to bet . . . here comes another Guardian,” he nudged Jose and pointed. “Want to bet he didn't count them?”

“No,” Jose laughed outright.

“So now I'm wondering how many people he didn't count,” Clay mused.

“You know there’ll be at least one or two,” Jose was still laughing. “Let’s go and greet our weary travelers.”

***

Shane wasn't sure he'd ever been so glad to see anyone or anything as he was to see two familiar figures standing on the road side of a beautiful farm with cattle visible in the background.

“I hope they eat those,” Sienna said over the intercom. “I'd love a good steak right about now.”

“They're all meat eaters,” he assured her. “Bring us to a stop where those two are standing.”

“Got it.” She began to brake and winced at the sound. Their vehicles had made a long trip with little service and it showed. She managed to stop right where Shane wanted her to, though.

“Sir, we're a bit lost,” she heard Shane say. “I'm looking for the Sanders' farm? Ever hear of it?”

“They used to live around here,” she heard a soft, drawling reply. “Lousy neighbors so we ran 'em off.”

“You can't count, can you, you redneck dumb-ass,” she heard another voice, this one with a Hispanic lilt to it.

“I can count just fine you wetback dickhead!” Shane called back.

“Eleven vehicles, you said,” the first voice spoke again. “We counted thirteen.”

“Huh?” Shane's puzzled expression was comical even if she couldn't see it.

“We've got thirteen vehicles, dumb-ass!” she called from the driver's seat, opening the hatch now that she was certain they were in the right place, and welcome.

“See, she knows right off what I'm talking about,” Jose nodded. “You, on the other hand . . . ”

“Bite me,” Shane shot back. “We started with eleven so . . . the number just kinda stuck in my head. Sue me.”

“It's good to see you, hermano,” Jose smiled up at him. “You guys okay?”

“We're wore out, my brother,” Shane admitted. “Dead on our feet. Have you got somewhere we can de-ass? Even temporarily?”

“Yeah,” Clay laughed, smiling. “Follow us around behind the barns,” he waved. “We've got a vehicle park back there. We can unload your trucks later.”

“Uh, how safe is this vehicle park?” Shane was suddenly nervous.

“Very,” Clay assured him. “Why?”

“Uh, we sorta . . . found . . . happened upon, you might say . . . ” Shane fidgeted.

“What did you do?” Clay might have sighed. Just a little.

“We got two armored rigs loaded with ordnance,” Shane blurted it out all at once, making it sound like one long word.

“Heavy?” Jose asked.

“Oh yeah,” Shane nodded, his head looking like a bobble-head puppet.

“It's safe enough,” Clay promised. “And we've got a bunker built for stuff like that. We can build another if you've got two trailers full. We've got working equipment. But for now, let us lead you to a parking area. I bet you guys are tired. And hungry.”

“You should be a gambler,” Shane snorted. “You'd win that bet, no question.”

***

Lainie was joined by Abigail and Samantha as the older woman was standing back, watching the new arrivals moving to the parking area. The vehicles showed signs of wear so obvious even they spotted them.

“Are those bullet holes?” Samantha asked as one of the semi tractors went by.

“They sure look like it,” Abigail almost breathed the answer.

“Clay said they had been down a rough road,” Lainie told them. “They've traveled a long way to get here, too.”

“How far?” Abigail asked.

“Somewhere in Arizona, I think.”

“Wow,” both younger women said in unison. In this new world, that was indeed a long way.

“And we think going to Jordan or Peabody is a risk,” Abby added. “Man, here we've been thinking we had it so rough.”

“No kidding,” Samantha nodded.

“C'mon,” Lainie jerked her head toward the rear of the building. “Let’s go see what we can see.”

***

Slowly the small convoy broke apart and vehicles moved into parking areas, guided by Clay, Jose and Big Jake, who had come out to find the source of so many diesel engines. As each vehicle was parked, the drivers and few passengers gathered to the front, where Shane and Sienna Newell were already standing.

“So you have a plus two somewhere and nine dependents?” Jose asked Shane as they watched the rest of the vehicles pulled into place.

“Well,” Shane scratched his head slowly. “I might have, kinda, by accident mind you, maybe left out one or two-”

“For God's sake, Shane,” Clay sighed in exasperation. “We're not selling tickets or checking invites. If you vouch for them it's fine. How many of you are there?”

“Well, it's not so much how many there are as how I might have described them,” Shane admitted. “The plus two would be Lieutenant Newell,” he pointed to Sienna, “and Wilcox,” he pointed to the brown haired man climbing out of the Hummer. “But, there's also Lieutenant Ledford and Captain Thatcher, but . . . neither one of them is a combatant, so-”

“Captain?” Clay and Jose say said in unison. “Seriously?” Jose continued. “Bad enough you've got el-tees but you got railroad tracks too? What the hell?”

“Hey man,” Shane held up a hand. “Sienna got us the Guardians,” he pointed to one of the squat armored vehicles, “and Kandi got us a shitload of goods-”

“Kandi?” Jose looked incredulous.

“Yes,” Shane fought the urge to roll his eyes. “And Captain Thatcher is a doctor.”

“What?” Clay was suddenly paying more attention to what Shane was saying. “Did you say 'doctor'?”

“Yes,” Shane nodded. “That,” he pointed to a tarp covered load one of the flatbed trailers, “is a tore up Stryker outfitted as a field ambulance and she has it stuffed to the gills with medical . . . stuff,” he waved a hand to cover the entire cargo with that one word. “I didn't really want to bring it. I don't know if it can be repaired or not, but she seems to think it can, and anyway, like I said it's full of her gear so . . . seemed like a good risk.”

“Absolutely,” Clay nodded vigorously. This is the best news he has had in . . . a long time it seems. He turns to see that everyone in Shane's group has assembled in front of their parked vehicles. He considers what he's going to say carefully before speaking.

“So . . . hot showers or home cooking first?”

That one question has made him new friends for life.

***

As the ragged cheer went up from the small group, Abby furiously elbowed Sam, nearly knocking the smaller woman over.

“What?” Sam demanded, rubbing her ribs. “Enough already!”

“Sam, look!” Abby pointed, literally reaching out and turning her friend's head. For an instant Sam is ready to fight back but suddenly she sees what has Abby so excited.

“Mattie?” Sam almost whispers. “Oh my God, MATTIE!” she yelled as she and Abby both took off at a run for the small group.

Among the newcomers a very tall woman, broad shouldered though gaunt now, heard her name and turned in that direction to see two of her old school mates running toward her, arms wide open.

“Look at you two!” the bigger girl beamed, hugging her friends tightly. “I thought this was your folk's place, but was afraid to hold out any hope,” she said to Abby.

“We're still here,” Abby assured her. “It's been touch and go at times, for sure, though.”

“It's worse elsewhere,” Mattie Simmons told them grimly. “And while it's great to see you, I was just promised a hot shower and hot food and that's too rare a commodity to pass on these days.”

“Don't be stupid,” Abby replied at once. “They're probably going to be in Building Two. Come on,” she tugged on Mattie's hand. “You can come to our place. Got any clothes?”

“I've got three suits of clothes that are pretty threadbare and two uniforms, all dirty,” Mattie replied with a grimace. “I was on a road trip with the team when the lights went out. Literally.”

“How did you end up with these guys?” Sam asked.

“You can tell us all about it while we go get your clothes,” Abby interrupted. “We can wash them at home and look for something else for you to wear.”

“What I'd really like is to find my folks,” Mattie replied.

“That will require some help from Clay,” Abby informed her at once, her lesson long learned. “But we’ll go with you to ask him.”

“Clay as in your Uncle Clay?” Mattie sounded hesitant. “I . . . uh, I heard he . . . I mean that he ki . . . ”

“Killed a guy at Lorrie's?” Abby finished helpfully. “Yep. He did. Some gang guy attacked Amy Mitchell just as Clay came home and when Clay stopped him he pulled a knife on Clay. Big mistake.”

“Understatement,” Sam nodded.

“Anyway, we’ll ask him, but I'd say nothing is going to happen in the time it will take you to get squared away, so come on.”

***

“Introductions can wait until you guys get taken care of,” Clay was saying. “We can get you some clean clothes, just BDUs probably but they're clean. You can wash your own in Building Two once you've settled in. By the time you get cleaned up the food will be ready. It's plain, but it's good. After you guys are set, we’ll start getting to know who you are and . . . ” he trailed off as the sound of muffled screaming could be heard.

“Does anyone else hear that?” he asked. “Maybe you overlooked someone?” he asked Shane.

“Oh,” Xavier realized what Clay was hearing. “Ah, you and Shane may want to come with me while they get started,” he said calmly.

“Do I want to know?” Clay asked with no small trepidation.

“We shall just have to see,” Xavier just shrugged.

“Pancho, carry them in and let them get started while I see what X has done now,” Clay sighed. Suddenly it was like they'd never separated.

“Got it,” Jose grinned. “Let’s go, people!” he raised his voice. “Inside and up the stairs. Soap, hot water and clean duds!” Another ragged cheer broke out as Clay and Shane followed Xavier to the Guardian he and Kevin Bodee had been using.

“Hey, where is Bear?” Shane asked suddenly and Clay almost froze.

“Bear's waiting in Elysium,” he said softly. “He’ll meet us there.”

Shane and Xavier both slowed and then stopped, looking at each other and then back to Clay.

“We've seen some action here, too,” Clay told them. “We’ll fill you in once you get settled. Okay?”

“Sure,” Shane nodded, and the three started again for the armored car.

“Seriously, X, do I want to know this?” Clay asked, wanting the subject changed from John Barnes.

“I think you will,” Xavier nodded. “We took a prisoner from the ambush,” he then told Shane. “I didn't want to put it over the air. And she was apparently the leader of their little group, too.”

“She?” Shane asked.

“Very much so,” Xavier nodded again. “Had all this with her when we caught her,” he handed over the notebooks and map the woman had been carrying. Clay gave a low whistle as he read through the notebook that carried what had to be radio frequencies. He reached for his radio before he made the third page.

“Deuce, how copy?”

“Go for Deuce,” his nephew answered at once.

“Come see me at the Shack in about ten,” Clay ordered. “Got something for you.”

“On the way.”

“Deuce?” Shane asked.

“My nephew,” Clay explained. “He, his twin sister and a couple more genius kids run our radio room under my brother Robert's supervision. This,” he held up the small notebook, “will help them find and listen in on whoever your shadows work for.”

“Cool,” Shane nodded as the three of the reached the rear of the armored car. The yelling was still muffled, but louder now. Xavier lowered the ramp to reveal a very angry woman, part of her hair singed away and her uniform showing signs of having been through a fire, lying face down on the floor, her wrists secured to her ankles with zip cuffs. She had fallen quiet as the ramp began to open, but now started in again, cursing all three of them. Xavier listened for about ten seconds before leaning down and backhanding the woman across the face, stunning her into silence.

“Much better,” he smiled at her. Xavier's smile was always scary, even when you were his friend. This woman was not his friend.

“Who are you, and what do you want with us?” Clay demanded.

“Fuck you!” the woman managed to spit in more or less his direction. Xavier slapped her again, with his palm, this time.

“Who are you, and what do you want with us?” Clay repeated, as if she had never spoken.

“Go fuck yourselves!” the woman screamed, earning her another backhand.

“I don't have the patience for this right now,” Clay admitted. “Might want to drag her out here in the open before she fouls your ride,” he told Xavier, who nodded. Taking the woman by what was left of her hair, he pulled her down the ramp and onto the grass, ignoring her screams of pain. She stopped struggling halfway down the ramp, realizing all she was doing was hurting herself. Once she was on the grass and fully out of the vehicle, Xavier released her hair and stepped back.

“Gunner, you copy?” Clay called for Zach.

“Go for Gunner,” came the immediate reply.

“I need you behind Building Two, where we parked the new arrivals. Gear up.”

“Be there in ten,” Zach promised.

“Gunner?” Shane asked. He was asking a lot of one word questions today it seemed.

“One of our new hires,” Clay grinned. “We replaced you with a younger, smarter model,” he gouged.

“Wouldn't take much,” Xavier joined in.

“Funny guys, the both o' ya,” Shane shot back, though without heat.

“You two go ahead and get clean and get chow,” Clay ordered. “I’ll stand by here until Gunner arrives. He can watch over our little beauty here until we decide what to do with her.”

“Thanks, Boss,” Shane readily agreed and Xavier nodded his thanks as the two departed, not quite running.

“So, you sound like you'd be from Alabama,” Clay said to the woman once his two friends were on their way.

“I ain't telling you shit!” the woman screeched.

“Yeah, you will,” Clay replied simply. “But I’ll give you some time to think it over, first. Reason I said that, though, is you ain't the first person from Alabama we've seen up here. We had a group through here a while back driving an old Chevy with an Alabama plate. Wasn't much left of the plate, mind, but the 'of Dixie' part of an Alabama plate was visible.

This apparently meant something to the woman, though she tried to hide it.

“Based on your reaction, I'm gonna go out on a limb and assume that was part of your outfit,” Clay continued. “Which means there's definitely more of you, and you're spreading yourselves out. Be interesting to hear what you have to say.”

“I ain't saying shit!” the woman repeated.

“Uh huh,” Clay smiled at her. “I've actually heard that before, believe it or not. I’ll give you a day of laying around, so to speak, before I ask you anything else. Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything before I go?” Clay sounded as if he were talking to an invited guest.

“What?” This question threw the woman off balance and she struggled to regain it.

“Just kidding,” Clay chuckled as the sound of an approaching ATV could be heard. “I'm going to leave you here until tomorrow so I know where to find you. Meanwhile, you can rethink that 'go fuck yourself' policy of yours.”

Before she could reply a side-by-side pulled up with a man and a woman inside, both wearing military gear.

“Sup, Boss?” Zach asked as he dismounted.

“Sorry to do this to you bud, but I need you to stand guard here for a bit,” Clay replied. “We’ll make some more permanent arrangements after everyone gets settled, but for now, let her stay just like this. No one is to approach her or speak to her, and she's not to be let loose under any circumstance.”

“I need to go to the bathroom!” the woman screeched at him upon hearing this.

“Swallow it,” Clay replied calmly. “No one,” he repeated to Zach.

“Got it, Boss,” Zach replied easily.

“Give me a ride?” Clay asked the woman behind the wheel of the ATV.

“Sure thing,” she nodded. “See you later,” she added to the teen, who winked and nodded before settling himself onto the ground in the shade of the armored car.

“I’ll send someone out to give her some water after a while,” Clay told him. “See ya.”

“Let me loose from here!” the woman demanded. Her only answer was a snort. She couldn't see him since he'd sat down outside her view.

“Now!” she yelled.

“Be right there,” he replied. Instead he concentrated on getting comfortable.

***

“Who is she?” Vicki asked as she carried Clay to the front of Building Two.

“Her group was following Shane's outfit,” Clay replied. “Two of Shane's men ambushed her group and took her prisoner. She was apparently the only survivor. I'm thinking she's part of the same outfit as our backdoor guests we had not long ago. The people that had that antique MG?” he clarified.

“Ah,” Vicki nodded. “So I take it we’ll try and find out where the rest are?”

“Oh, we’ll find out,” Clay assured her. “She can talk to me, or she can talk to X. She'd rather talk to me, though she doesn't know that yet.”

“X?”

“Xavier,” Clay explained as they neared the front of Building Two. “Xavier Adair. One of the guys from my old outfit that just arrived a little while ago.”

“I like those Guardians,” Vicki nodded. “Nice to have.”

“They sound wore down, but assuming Jake can rebuild them, I agree,” Clay nodded as the ATV stopped at their destination. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Anytime,” Vicki smiled.

“Going back and sit with Zach?” Clay asked innocently, almost laughing at the blush that spread across Vicki's face.

“I might,” she admitted.

“Ignore her, and tell Zach the same, though I imagine he is anyway,” Clay ordered. “Isolate her. Pretend she doesn't exist, even. Won't take long for her to break I'd say.”

“Will do,” Vicki nodded, glad for the change of subject.

“And behave,” Clay jabbed just before she could fully relax. Her face turned red again as Clay chuckled and walked inside before she could splutter a reply.

Inside, Clay saw his nephew waiting.

“Check this out,” he handed over the radio book Xavier had given him. “One of my guys that got here today took this from someone who tried to ambush them. There are radio frequencies and codes in here along with various other information. Start trying to monitor these but do not try to make contact. These people are absolutely an enemy and we will not try to establish contact under any circumstances.”

“Sweet!” Deuce nodded, accepting the book. “Want to know if we hear anything, or just want us to record?”

“Both,” Clay replied. “Use your own judgment as to how important anything you hear is, but record it just the same so we can listen later. We have a lot going on today and I may not can get free right away to come hear.”

“Got it,” Deuce nodded. He took the book and went inside the radio room, closing the door behind him. That done, Clay went in search of Jose to make sure everything else was going smoothly.

CHAPTER TWO

It was a grateful group of people who had descended the stairs from the upstairs bathrooms to find an entire table full of cooked food that didn't come from a plastic bag waiting for them.

“Help yourselves and dig in,” Lainie told them as she and Angela checked the table over. Eager hands grabbed paper plates and began to fill them with what to them were delicacies long lost behind them.

Clay decided that hot water and soap had been good to the group, and knew that hot food and a good night of rest would be even better. He'd been in their shoes, on edge and in constant danger for days at a time. It wore on you very quickly.

“They're hungry,” Lainie smiled at him slightly, watching the small group eat.

“They aren't starving, but they're hungry for real food,” Clay nodded. “Means they've probably been living off MREs for a while. They're filling, and will keep you going, but some of them . . . well, let’s just say if you don't get the ones that taste like cardboard, you give more thanks,” he winked.

“Ugh,” Lainie made a face, wrinkling her nose.

“Exactly,” Clay nodded in agreement.

For half-an-hour they watched the newcomers eat, all of them fixing a second plate and few, after ensuring it was okay, a third. All of them were extremely grateful for the food and repeatedly told Angela, Lainie and Martina Sanchez that. All three enjoyed seeing the group eat their fill.

Finally Shane stood up and the talk among the group died down as all of them turned to look toward him.

“I think it's about time that introductions are in order,” Shane announced. “First off, though,” he turned to Angela, Lainie and Martina. “Ladies, that was a wonderful meal, and far better than we've had access to in . . . it seems like a long time,” he settled for saying.

“We're glad you enjoyed yourselves,” Angela answered for them. Lainie and Martina nodded their agreement.

“Now, Bossman, or Clay, already knows us,” Shane indicated himself and his old teammates. “But no one else will, so I'm not going to skip anyone. However, I'm going to leave it up to you all to get to know our hosts and tell them about yourselves and what you can do to add to the community. Make no mistake, people; this is the end of the line. We're not going any further. This is home.” He turned to Clay.

“Boss, do you want to start?” Clay stepped forward, nodding.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Clayton Sanders. I answer to Bossman from the old days, just like all of us answer to call signs we earned in the field. I command the security detachment and also own this half of the farm land. This is my mother, Angela, my girlfriend Lainie Harper, and Jose's wife, Martina,” he introduced. “I'm assuming they had help with this feast,” he added and his mother nodded, “but you can meet the rest as we go.

“My father and grandfather own the other half of the farmland here, and my family and several others live there. On the hill, that way,” he pointed east, “there is another group of buildings we erected after the Storm hit. A square with a central bathhouse and communal kitchen. There are several people living there at present and there is also a small orphanage there with about twenty children and four caretakers.

“We run a fairly large cattle operation and also plant several acres as well, mostly for silage or bio-diesel. We also planted about thirty acres in gardens this year and so far they're doing well.

“We were ready for the CME when it hit and had a few hours’ notice thanks to some computer wizardry, so most of our vehicles and electronics were sealed in these buildings and protected from the surge. We have built defensive emplacements all along the perimeter of this farm including defensive towers and bunkers. We've also run field telephones between our radio room and a number of houses as well as all major defense positions.” He paused and surveyed the small group. All were listening intently it seemed.

“We've been attacked several times since things happened,” he told them. “We were attacked by the former investigator for the Sheriff's office and his posse of idiots. We were later attacked by a group calling themselves the Citizens Committee for Reconstruction, multiple times. And we were attacked once by people who I suspect were part of the same group that was following you.”

“We were being followed?” a dark-haired woman with a nose ring asked, looking at Shane. “Why didn't you tell us?”

“No reason to,” Shane shrugged. “There was nothing you could do about it and we needed everyone concentrating on what they were doing. We had come too far to screw up so close to our goal. Besides, X and Kevin took care of it.”

“We should have been told, Shane,” the short, slightly heavy woman next to the first speaker said sullenly. Her light blonde hair was cut fairly short, though not as short as her . . . Clay had an epiphany about that time, looking at the two women.

Interesting times ahead, he decided.

“Anyway,” Clay cut that discussion short. Shane could deal with that on his own time. “We have discovered holes in our preparations and our defenses as we've gone along. We've remedied the problems with our defenses and done what we could to alleviate the shortcomings in our preparations. While we are not nearly as well off as we once were, before the Storm, we are in much better shape than most of the world around us. Which of course means we have problems with people who don't like that much.

“We've helped where we can, when we can, including taking food to a nearby church that was staging as a shelter after a firefight in the county seat broke out into a huge fire that left many homeless and an unknown number dead. That trip, carrying food and cattle to be butchered to the church I mean, resulted in an attempt to take our farm truck and suggestions that they expected weekly deliveries of food from then forward. One woman complained that we hadn't brought enough, despite the fact that we had almost emptied our canned stores to help them. Needless to say, we've not been back.

“The truth is we're at a point where we are just above self-sustaining at the moment. Once the gardens and the crops come in, we’ll be in a better position to help those we can, but we've also taken in a large number of people who were caught out by events, including the children in the orphanage and the women who care for them.

“We can sustain ourselves here, barring disaster, but it's hard work,” he tried to catch each one personally as he swept them with his gaze. “Everyone here works at least two jobs and some work more. And that is over and above anything we want to do on our own. Fortunately, no one job outside our security arrangement and child care is literally a full time job, but it's still hard work. Any of you who have ever worked on a farm know what I'm talking about.”

One slender young man with blondish hair and tan skin nodded slowly, as did an older black man with graying hair. Another man who was sitting with his arms wrapped around a pretty, dark haired woman in fatigues also nodded.

“You're all welcome here, since you know these good for nothings,” Clay grinned as he pointed to Shane and the others of his former team, and that got him a laugh from the people he didn't know and jeers from his old teammates. He waited for the laughter to die before continuing.

“But you will have to work for it,” he warned them all. “We all have to if we're going to make it. That said, none of you will be assigned anything to do for the next three days. Your time is your own to do with as you please. After the trip you've made, you deserve a month off, but we can't take care of so many for that long without help, so . . . sorry,” he grinned, trying to ease the bad news to them.

“After those three days we’ll be talking to all of you in turn, seeing where your strengths lie and how best to integrate you into our set up. That will include housing, though for now we will likely just let you crash here for a day or so. I've been in your shoes and I know by now you've become dependent on each other being there. I get that. We've all been there too,” he pointed again to Shane and the others.

“That will also place you here in the building with the best bathroom space for so many, and with the clinic. I know it's been a long trip and some of you may have put off complaining about sickness or injury, but you can't afford to do much of that in the times we're in now. For tonight and tomorrow we’ll bring meals to you here so you can stay together. After that you can decide if you want to join any of us or make out on your own. Either way is okay. No one will take offense if you want to cook for yourselves,” he chuckled and they all laughed again, albeit tiredly.

“I will add to that by saying we are very fortunate to have some great cooks,” Clay added. “We will try in the next couple days to gather everyone together and let us all make introductions for at least the leaders of the community. Also, we recently decided to begin having a sort of shindig every month or so, and that's coming up soon. That will be great way for you guys to meet and greet everyone and have a good time doing it. We’ll slaughter and roast a beef over an open fire, though I don't know if we'll have bread this time,” he shot a grin at his mother and then Lainie, both of whom looked unpleasant.

“Probably not,” he added with a snicker. “So in the meantime, you guys relax and rest. You've come a long way and I'm sure under the worst possible circumstances. I know it will take a few days for it to sink in, but we are fairly well protected here. You're as safe here as we can make you considering the state of the world.

“And on that note, one last thing,” he decided there was no point in skipping around it. “A few weeks ago the decision was made to train everyone over the age of sixteen that could pass a physical up to a level that would allow them to participate in the defense of this place. Some of you may already have such training and if so, and you can pass the various competency tests, then you won't have to go through the basics anyway.

“We’ll talk more about all that later though,” he smiled. “For now, rest, relax and take it easy. You've no doubt earned it. Any questions you have we’ll answer at evening mess. Shane?” Clay stepped back, his throat sore from so much talking. He didn't normally have a lot to say.

“Never heard you say that much at one time,” Shane said, as if reading Clay's mind. “He's usually more the strong, silent and stupid type,” he told his group, eliciting a nasty snicker from Lainie and an outright laugh from Angela and Martina.

“My own mother,” Clay shook his head sadly, but was unable to hide his grin.

“You guys heard the man,” Shane told them. “Flake out. God knows you earned it. You deserve it. One thing, though,” he raised a hand. “I know some of you will probably want to head out to the motor homes or the bus, and that's fine, but . . . there's a prisoner at the back of the trail Guardian. She will probably be yelling her head off by now, but ignore it. I don't want any of you to go near her for now. She's the survivor of the group we ambushed that was trailing us. We're going to try and get information out of her later, but for now we're letting her stew. All of us are too tired to worry with her for now, and maybe a little discomfort will loosen her tongue. Anyway, stay clear of her. There's a guard on her anyway, so just ignore her. And with that, head out and unpack, sleep, rest, do laundry or whatever makes you happy. Sergeant Wilcox, Captain Thatcher, Lieutenants Newell and Ledford please stay. Rest of you take off.”

The three women in question made their way up to where Shane was standing, all of them eyeing Clay closely. A tall NCO followed at a respectful distance, his eyes seeming to catch everything. Clay returned their gaze without blinking, and none of them could hold his eyes for long.

“Captain Thatcher, this is Lieutenant Clayton Sanders, our former commander,” Shane said to the older woman. She was just a little thicker perhaps than the younger women, possibly because of her age or maybe just because she was built that way. Her dark hair was cut short in what he imagined was a popular style for a doctor. There was no denying the woman was pretty. She was also sharp eyed to the point that Clay decided she was probably a handful.

“Lieutenant,” Thatcher nodded.

“I'm not a Lieutenant anymore, Doctor,” Clay got the vibe that Thatcher was trying to establish herself somehow. “Just a farmer and rancher.”

“With an M-4 rifle,” Thatcher nodded as he had made her point for her.

“Nice to meet you, Doctor,” Clay extended his hand, and she finally took it, again as if trying to dictate how the discussion went.

“Hi, I'm Kandi Ledford,” a somewhat busty younger woman with much longer hair stepped forward, her face open and friendly. Her long blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail that swished behind her as she walked. While lacking Thatcher's outright attractiveness, Ledford's friendly personality more than made up for it. Her hand was soft, indicating she spent most of her time inside rather than in the field.

“I was with the 13th Sustainment Command,” Ledford told him, as if knowing what he was thinking. “I was lucky to hook up with Shane and his group,” she smiled.

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Ledford,” Clay replied with a slight smile.

“Sienna Newell,” the third woman said, also offering her hand. “89th MP Brigade.” Her hair was auburn and fell midway between the other two in length. A smattering of freckles gave her a girl next door vibe. She was slender, taller than the other two and he felt callouses on her hand when they shook. This woman was a soldier in every sense of the word.

“Good to have you with us, Miss Newell,” he replied.

“And Staff Sergeant Virgil Wilcox,” Shane introduced as a tall, dusky skinned man stepped forward, hand extended. He was more solid than he appeared thanks to his height, and had he been shorter Clay would have taken him for at least part Filipino. As it was he felt like Wilcox was too tall for that, and it didn't matter anyway. Wilcox had a competent look to him that Clay immediately liked.

“3rd Cav, Sir,” the man nodded, then stepped back as Clay released his hand. “Pleasure.”

“I know it takes time, Staff Sergeant, but you can just call me Clay, or else Bossman,” Clay offered with a grin. “We're glad to have you here.”

“Thank you, sir,” Wilcox replied with a slight glance at Thatcher. Clay ignored that for now.

“Doctor Thatcher, it may interest you to know that we have a Physician's Assistant and an RN in our clinic, as well as having a trained squad medic on the team. And our medic has been teaching basic lifesaving to everyone and advanced aid to those who seem better able to grasp it.”

“I’ll need to see this clinic,” Thatcher was blunt.

“We can arrange that,” Clay nodded. “Anything else?” he looked at Shane.

“You should be talking to me,” Thatcher interrupted before Shane could speak. Shane sighed and gave Clay a look of 'what can you do'.

“Why is that, Doctor Thatcher?” Clay decided to nip this in the bud before it could get out of hand.

“I'm the ranking officer here,” Thatcher replied.

“You may have missed the part where we're not in the Army anymore,” Clay actually smiled at her. “And considering you're here with a stolen armored vehicle full of stolen medical supplies and equipment, I imagine your days in the Army have officially come to an end as well, wouldn't you say?

“We don't operate that way here,” he continued, his tone friendly. “And I'm talking to Shane because he led you here, and is someone I know and trust. He and the others from my team are the reason you're here. And, not to be rude or brag, but if there's a commanding officer here other than me, it's going to be the Old Man. My grandfather. And trust me, Doctor, you do not want to pull this shit with him. He will eat you alive and spit out the bones.

“You're a doctor, and that's fantastic to be honest. We're genuinely glad to have you here in that capacity. Your husband is a truck driver, and appeared to be a good one. Based on his nod when I mentioned farming being hard work, I'm willing to bet he has at least a basic knowledge of farm equipment which is even better. So it's in no way an exaggeration to say we're glad to have you.

“But don't make the mistake of thinking your Army rank means anything here,” Clay's voice lost its 'friendly' tone and his eyes grew flinty. “Right now, my sister-in-law is in charge of the clinic. Assuming she surrenders that responsibility to you, then that's what you will command. We don't risk anyone with that kind of training in the field so other than basic self-defense you won't have to worry about training with the rest of the group.

“None of that is negotiable, by the way,” he finished as Thatcher's face got redder. “It's not personal, so please don't try to make it that way. It's strictly a matter of survival. I wasn't lying or exaggerating when I told you we're thrilled to have a doctor joining us. Emphasis on doctor, not Captain. I trust you ladies get that as well?” he looked toward the two lieutenants.

“My Army days are behind me,” Ledford nodded. “Got outta there by the thread of my underwear as it was. I've never seen any actual combat, or even a field deployment for that matter, being in Sustainment my entire career, but I've had basic and qualified on several weapons and systems. I also went through Basic Infantry Officer training. It was just that my organizational and computer skills landed me in a staff job.”

“Same here,” Newell was also nodding. “I knew what I was getting into when I signed on. Shane was in charge from the get go and we followed him all the way here. Now that we are here, we’ll serve wherever you want us to. I've deployed to Iraq twice and Afghanistan once as an MP. Usually patrolling unsecured areas for insurgent activity.”

“Sounds like you two have got it together then,” Clay grinned at them. “We’ll talk more about your skills in a day or two. For now, rest and relax. I'm sure you can use it.”

“And how,” the two replied in unison.

“Is there anything else?” Clay looked at Shane, pointedly ignoring the good Captain.

“Nah, just wanted you to meet the plus two and the rest,” Shane shook his head.

“Plus two?” Thatcher had to ask.

“I couldn't tell him exactly how many were along in case others were listening, so I used an old trick from back in the day,” Shane replied. “If anyone heard me, they got no idea how many people were on the convoy, or how many might be a threat. Any advantage is gold in battle.”

“Amen,” Wilcox echoed Clay and the two nodded at each other.

“Well then, assuming you're up to it, I guess I need to take you up to meet the Old Man,” Clay told Shane.

“Works for me.”

***

“I need to take a piss!”

“I wonder if she eats with that mouth,” Vicki groused as she and Zach sat in the shade of the armored car, where the prisoner couldn't see them.

“If she doesn't, it'd be interesting to see how she does eat,” Zach snorted and Vicki punched his shoulder.

“What?” Zach gave a 'helpless' shrug. “I'm just saying it would make for interesting-”

“Hey!” the woman on the ground interrupted again. “I know you can hear me! Now untie me and let me take a leak!”

“Clay already told her to swallow it,” Zach said, winking at Vicki as he did so. “Again, something that might prove interesting if you can do it without letting it out to start with. Otherwise it's just sick,” he made a gagging motion.

“I can tell this is gonna be a long afternoon,” Vicki groaned as she lay back on the ground, crossing her ankles and resting on her elbows.

“We’ll find some way to pass the time, I'm sure.”

***

“Leon, this is Shane Golden, a teammate from my Africa days. He was the one who called on the radio last night. Shane, this is the Old Man, my grandfather, Leon. He's pretty much in charge of everything that isn't security related or personal business.”

“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” Shane offered his hand.

“Same,” Leon's voice was gruff but not unfriendly as he took the hand. “I hear you had a long, hard trip, boy,” he looked up at Shane. “And left a bad situation behind you.”

“That we did, I'm afraid,” Shane sighed tiredly. “I'd rather not get into the nuts and bolts tonight, if you don't mind. I really am beat. But maybe ten days or so after the CME hit, things started popping. I think it took that long for people to realize that things weren't going to go back to normal, and for supplies to start running out.”

“'Bout that here, too,” Leon nodded.

“Well, it doesn't seem to get a lot of press, but the southwestern area of the country has a major gang problem,” Shane continued. “Some of which are actually terrorist groups with the mission statement of taking Arizona, New Mexico, Texas and California back for Mexico.”

“Welcome to California,” Leon snorted and Shane laughed.

“Most others out there would agree, sir,” he nodded. “But not where we were in rural Arizona. No one there will tolerate that kind of shit, and that includes the citizens who have Mexican ancestry.” He paused, thinking about recent events.

“It started small,” he went on finally. “A murdered rancher. Burned home. Ransacked business. But within two weeks the tempo had increased significantly. So much so that by the third week we were already preparing to bug out. I don't know why I didn't see it,” Shane shook his head slowly. “I should have accounted for that, I really should. I knew the gangs were a problem but I counted on our isolation to protect us from most of it, and we had the firepower to deal with what found us. At least so long as it was small outfits.”

“So what changed?” Clay asked.

“Everything,” Shane snorted. “But it started with someone getting the upper hand and bringing all the Hispanic gangs under one banner. Or maybe it's three, I don't know for sure and didn't try to find out.”

“Wait,” Leon held up a gnarled hand. “Aztlan? That one of 'em? Mecha something? The Raza?”

“Someone knows what's going on,” Shane nodded in approval.

“Damn, I thought that shit died out twenty years ago,” Leon shook his head. “It was a political movement wanting the southwest 'territory' back in Mexican hands. Had some communist leanings and had offices on a bunch of college campuses. Always trying to stir shit.”

“That would be them,” Shane was nodding again. “And I gotta say before I go any further, this isn't a race issue. Some of the ranchers they killed were just as Hispanic as any of them. Some of the places they burned belonged to Hispanic families that have lived and worked that land for umpteen generations. It's about power, pure and simple.

“Whoever is leading them is pretty damn smart, too. Once they were all in hand and working together, he started seizing control of the water. That part of the country is water poor anyway. Not as many aquifers as around here and not nearly as many rivers, streams and lakes. It's like it was in the old west day; whoever controls the water controls the land. With the power off and the grid destroyed, there's no more turning on a tap for water. Whoever controls the fresh water is in charge.”

“Makes sense,” Leon mused. “Decent tactic. Whoever you were dealing with either has some training or else has someone working for him who does. Sounds like all of this is coming from a playbook that was already made up and ready, too.”

“It ran like it, yes sir,” Shane agreed. “Too smooth and too organized. I grant you they were slow to get started, but then the CME took everyone by surprise for the most part, so I doubt they were waiting to kick off their revolution. They had to play catch up, and then they had to hash things out between them. By the time they had done that, we were making tracks this way.”

“Leave anything behind?” Clay asked.

“Nothing useful,” Shane shook his head. “Food and water supplies we didn't think we'd need. Some needy soul may come across them and it save their life, who knows? But everything else we brought with us. Even if we couldn't get here, we weren't going back there.” Shane paused, yawning. “Sorry.”

“You've had a long day, son,” Leon told him. “Go and rest. Nothing that's happening out there is gonna affect us here, least not tonight. Might be interesting to hear what you ran through to get here, but that can wait for you to rest up. Go on, now. We’ll talk again in a couple days. Go take care of yourself.”

“Thank you, sir,” Shane stood.

“I gotta head back down, Leon,” Clay was on his feet as well. “Shane caught a rat on the way here and she might be important in a semi sort of way. Hopefully we can get some information out of her. We're letting her stew a bit before interrogating her.”

“Sounds like you boys got everything under control, then,” Leon nodded in approval. “Keep me updated on what you're doing.”

“Will do.”

***

Freshly showered and wearing sweats that belonged to Abby's brother, Mattie Simmons was sitting at the dining room table devouring a plate of roasted beef and warmed vegetables.

“I can't honestly remember the last time I had a decent meal,” Mattie almost groaned as she paused long enough to get a drink of water. “We've been eating out of cans and bags since I joined up with their convoy. Before that I was eating whatever I could find while staying out of sight.”

“How did you end up with them?” Abby asked her.

“We were on a road trip to Houston when the lights went out,” Mattie replied. “For the first few minutes we just sat there but then someone yelled about lights outside and so we streamed out of the gym and sure enough it looked like the sky had caught fire.

“After an hour or so the coach decided we should try heading home, since it looked like this was going to be a disaster, but the bus wouldn't even turn over. About that time he realized that most of the cars in the parking lot wouldn't start, either, and that a mild panic was starting. People starting mentioning September Eleven, the War or Terror, the election and so forth and so on, working the crowd into a real fever pitch.

“Coach tried to keep us all together at first, sure that things would right themselves. For the first night and next day it was okay. Not great but okay. The university was able to feed us and we were staying on campus so that wasn't a problem, but . . . after that things started to turn sour. By the second day the city was turning itself inside out and I really don't think Coach knew what to do at that point. Several of my teammates were starting to annoy me with their whining anyway and it really looked like things weren't going to reset, so to speak, so me and another girl decided we'd had enough and started making plans to make our way home.

“The first problem with that plan was it was November,” Mattie sighed. “Already cool if not cold, and we weren't exactly prepared for something like that, you know? But we started gathering supplies like bottled water and packaged food from vending machines and secreting it away. We made ponchos from the blankets on our beds and took the bedspreads for blankets. We were almost sure Coach knew what we were planning but he was starting to break down too and I think he ignored us. He and his wife had just had a baby and he couldn't get in touch with her of course, and the baby was too young and his wife still too weak for them to have made the trip with us. So he was preoccupied with that and with a few of the other girls being whiny and starting to panic, so . . . well, we just slipped away and started walking this way,” she shrugged.

“Which one was the other girl?” Abby asked. “You want us to bring her over here too?”

Mattie was silent for a minute and Abby realized she had hit a nerve.

“Cindy . . . Cindy didn't make it,” Mattie finally said. “I mean, she didn't make it all the way here. She may still be alive, I don't know. It might be kinder to her if she wasn't, though.” She took a ragged breath and released it before continuing.

“We actually did okay at first,” she went on, trying to sound up beat. “We walked only during the day, made sure we were well off the road before night and set up somewhere that we could hide. At first that worked great since most people seemed to be doing the same thing. That lasted for I think eight days. It might have been nine, I'm not sure.”

“We had made it a pretty good ways, using a state highway to go north looking for Interstate 20. We knew it would take us across the river and that was our one big concern. Fools we. We had a lot of concerns, we just didn't know it yet. We knew enough to try and skirt big towns and cities after seeing what had started in Houston, but . . . we were foolish enough to think that passing through small towns was safer.”

“We rarely stopped anywhere in any town. We just walked through and kept going. By that time no one wanted strangers around to share what was left, and we understood that fine. I was finding enough berries and late fruit to keep us eating and while water was a problem, every now and then we'd find someone with a well who wouldn't mind allowing a couple of poor college girls far from home to fill up their empty water bottles.

“But, it couldn't last,” Mattie sighed, and her eyes might have been just a little wet. “Things were breaking down pretty bad after maybe three weeks, two of which we'd spent on the road. We were both in good shape and had good shoes so we were making good time. About nine or so miles a day or so we estimated. That may not sound like a lot, but we had to be careful and absolutely had to be somewhere safe before dark because it was dark as pitch once night fell. Anyway, we did okay, but we pushed too hard and headed through a mid-sized town just before dark. The place was bigger than it looked and the sun set with us still there and . . . well, you remember that old song; freaks come out at night.” She paused again, clearly reliving something bad.

“We ran. We ran so hard, but . . . we were already tired. Already worn down. Hadn't been eating good and . . . Cindy, she fell. Hit her knee hard on the asphalt. I didn't realize it at first since I was about two steps ahead of her, but I heard her call me and I stopped, looking back.”

“There were maybe . . . ten, twelve guys chasing us and they were almost on us,” Mattie was crying now. “Cindy had this hopeless look on her face, trying to get up but her . . . her knee was . . . she couldn't walk,” Mattie sobbed just a bit. “I . . . I ran,” she finally broke down. “We've been friends, teammates for two years and I . . . I just left her because I knew I couldn't help her and . . . and I didn't want them to catch me,” she sobbed, head falling into her hands as she shuddered. Abby and Sam immediately got up and enveloped their old classmate in a hug, holding her tight as she released the anguish she had been holding for no telling how long. Neither knew how long they had stood there when Mattie finally calmed a bit, patting each one on the arm.

“I ran,” she whispered. “I left her and I ran away.”

“Mattie, there wasn't anything else you could do,” Abby told her firmly. “You already said she couldn't walk, let alone run. If you had gone back then all that would have changed would be that both of you would have been caught. Nothing else. She was already in trouble and you, at least, still had a chance. There is nothing wrong with saving yourself from a hopeless situation.”

“If we had only been paying attention,” Mattie was shaking her head. “If we had . . . we should have stopped. Hid. We should have waited, or else gone around the next morning. But we were talking and not paying attention and . . . and Cindy paid for it. May still be paying for it, for all I know.”

“I'm sorry about your friend, Mats,” Sam used an old nickname from high school for her friend. “But Abs is right. All going back would have done is delivered you into their hands. And I can tell you from first-hand experience that isn't where you want to be.”

“You?” Mattie looked up at her. “Around here?” Her look of surprise was closer to shock.

“You were just telling us how bad things were out there,” Abby pointed out, sitting back down, closer this time. “Why think it would be any different here?”

“I just . . . I mean I never thought . . . ” Mattie stumbled a bit at that. “Here,” she shook her head slowly. “Have either of you seen my folks?” she asked suddenly. Up until now she had assumed she was going to be able to make it home to her family. Now she wasn't so certain.

“No, but . . . a lot has happened since this started,” Abby sighed. “I guess we have a story to tell too. Let’s go somewhere more comfortable. Safer,” she added. “And we are safe here, Mattie. I promise. I can't tell you anywhere else is safe, not around here close, but here? Here is safe. My uncle Clay has made sure of that.”

With that the three girls retired to Abby's room where they lay across the beds and shared tales with one another.

***

“And how is our guest doing?” Clay asked, walking up on Zach, who was sitting with his back against the armored car, cleaning his rifle.

“Loud for a while but I think her throat went dry at some point,” Zach shrugged as he finished reassembling his rifle. He took the time to reload it before continuing.

“I have learned a few new words, though,” he grinned, standing. “She's a real mouthful, that one.”

“Fuck you!” a raspy female voice tried to shout but it came out as more of a harsh stage whisper.

“That isn't one of them,” Zach snorted, the grin getting larger. “Probably need to hose her down at some point,” he wrinkled his nose.

“I figure,” Clay nodded. “Well, you’ll be relieved soon. We’ll leave her here until tomorrow I guess and then see if she has anything she wants to say. If not we’ll try the day after that. Sooner or later she’ll either talk to us or die. One or the other.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Zach agreed. Clay didn't quite frown at that. He had been more or less joking, but apparently Zach either caught it and was playing along, or else he didn't care one way or another. And since he didn't smile at Clay when he said it, Clay was pretty sure he wasn't just playing along.

“Who's relieving me?” Zach asked.

“Thug,” Clay replied, leaving for later his concerns for Zach. “He's getting chow right now and will be out as soon as he's finished. We’ll fold her into Ground Watch tomorrow if she doesn't talk, but we’ll keep her here under observation for tonight. You can get supper once he gets here.”

“Awesome,” Zach nodded. “Getting hungry about the time you walked up.”

“You don't feed prisoners around here?” the stage whisper came again.

“Do you feed prisoners where you keep them?” Clay asked, walking over and kneeling down to look at the woman. She seemed shocked to be spoken to after so long. She had screamed herself hoarse long ago.

“Who said we had prisoners?” she demanded of him.

“So you just kill everyone you rob then,” Clay nodded slowly. “Good to know.”

“I never said that!”

“So which is it then?” Clay asked. “Either you take prisoners from the people you attack or you don't. It's pretty much a yes or no question.”

“I never said we attacked anyone!”

“We already know you do so we didn't ask,” Clay told her. “We're listening to your people on the radio now, thanks to your notebook. Seems like there are a lot of you out there, looking for the next mother lode, as one put it.” Deuce had heard that phrase once as he swept over the radio frequencies in the notebook taken from the woman. Apparently her group wasn't nearly as lax on radio security as her own small outfit had been with their physical security.

He saw the woman's face tighten at the phrase 'mother lode'. Apparently it came from someone she knew.

“Anyway,” Clay stood. “Since you can't answer me, I guess we're done here. Might feed you tomorrow, if we feel like it. Gotta admit though, that bunch of yours that hit us a while back kinda left a bad impression, so most people here would be more likely to vote to let you starve. It is cheaper than a bullet, anyway. I'd say have a good night but . . . I doubt you will under the circumstances. Sleep tight now.” And with that moved back out of her line of sight.

“I’ll kill you,” she rasped, trying to see him over her shoulder. “I swear I’ll kill you!”

“I've heard that one before, too,” Clay laughed. “Still here. Look, just face it. You fucked up. Your entire group fucked up, really, but you in particular. You happened to pick on the one group anywhere nearby that can destroy you. Let that keep you warm tonight, by the way. If you had left us alone, we'd be none the wiser and wouldn't care. You'd still be free to go about killing and robbing and what not. Instead, your friends are extra crispy on the Interstate and you're laying there in your own waste. I bet when you woke up this morning that wasn't how you thought today would go, am I right? Anyway. See you in the morning!” he finished cheerfully.

“Cool,” Zach chuckled under his breath.

“See you later kid,” Clay slapped Zach on his shoulder as he walked away. “Have a good evening.”

“Bet on it.”

***

Abby had waited until Mattie was asleep before seeking out her mother.

“How is your friend, Abigail?” Patricia asked in the flickering candlelight.

“She's fucked up, mom,” Abby said softly, surprising her mother with her language.

“How do you mean?”

Abby quickly explained Mattie's recounting of how she had lost the girl she had been traveling with.

“Poor girl,” Patricia sighed. “I'm afraid the world is full of that story at the moment, dear.”

“I think she probably needs to talk to Beverly before she tries to go home,” Abby nodded. “Assuming her home is still there.”

“You should mention it to Beverly, tomorrow, and see if she can suggest some way to bring it up to Mattie,” Patricia advised.

“I was hoping you might do that,” Abby said hesitantly, fidgeting slightly.

“Why?”

“I don't have the best relationship with the people over there,” Abby admitted. “Remember how things went with the baby-sitting gig,” she added.

“Oh, I remember,” her mother told her. “One doesn't forget hearing how a child she raised treats children as a grown up.” Abby's face flushed at the slight barb, visible even in the candlelight.

“I'm sorry I embarrassed you,” Abby said truthfully. “But the fact remains that Mattie needs help, and I am the last person they want to see over there. So can you, please, mention to Beverly tomorrow that Mattie might benefit from talking to her. Assuming she's willing?”

“Beverly or Mattie?” Patricia asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes. Both. Either,” Abby threw out answers as fast as she thought of them.

“Very well,” Patricia agreed finally. “But you might find that after the fire, you aren't quite as unpopular as you thought,” her mother added cryptically. Abby looked at her for a moment before what her mother had said sank in. When it did, she perked up a bit.

“Really?”

“Really,” Patricia nodded, rising to get ready for bed. “You saved their homes, too, you know,” she kissed her daughter on the forehead. “Good night dear.”

“Thanks mom,” Abby said softly. “Night.”

CHAPTER THREE

Emily Shirley sputtered awake as she inhaled a nose full of water, opening her mouth in time to get the full effect of a second bucket of ice cold water being thrown on her. She promised herself that Eugene, it had to be Eugene, was going to pay for dousing her with-

“I think she's awake now,” she heard a male voice say. “Poor thing almost drowned,” the voice continued, the tone mocking rather than sympathetic. Her awareness of where she was came crashing back down upon her as Emily remembered the events of the previous day. Eugene and the rest of her squad were dead and she had been captured by the very people they had been casing. Following in order to set up an attack on them.

“Should sleep with her mouth closed,” a different voice said as she tried to blink the water out of her eyes in order to see what was around her. Her body was screaming at her in pain, hunger and thirst. Her wrists were rubbed raw from pulling at her restraints and her ankles ached from the strain of trying to take the burden off her wrists when she was awake. During her fitful sleep her legs had relaxed, placing the burden on her shoulders and wrists once more. Her abrupt awakening and the attempts at moving had brought what had been a dull ache in her muscles and joints roaring to her attention as near blinding pain and she couldn't help the whimper that escaped her lips before she could catch it.

“Wow, she's gonna need a bath one day,” a third voice, this one a woman's, came to her ears. All of the speakers were outside her field of vision, most of which was occupied by the enormous wheel of a converted school bus. Her position had moved during the night without her even realizing it.

“Yeah, she's pretty ripe,” the first voice agreed and Emily felt a blush spread across her face. In a sudden moment of clarity, she realized how the women her uncle and the others had taken for 'entertainment purposes' must have felt in their enforced captivity.

“I wouldn't be if you people allowed someone to take a piss once in a while!” she yelled. Or tried to. What actually came out was more of a strangled cry that hurt her dry throat. She had thoughtlessly spat out the mouthful of water she had caught from her 'dousing' instead of swallowing it. It might have given her poor throat some minor relief.

“She sounds like a kitten crying for her mamma,” the female voice laughed. Emily wondered how another woman could laugh at seeing the dilemma she was in until she once more remembered the women her own group had taken, and how callous the women of their group had treated them. Another taste of what those women had endured.

“So she does,” the first male voice agreed. “Give her a spin,” he ordered. Emily felt someone grab her ankles and pull, a raspy scream of pain tearing from her already injured throat as she was unceremoniously pulled around to face her captors, still bound as she had been the day before.

“Here,” someone said and thrust a baby bottle at her mouth. Without thinking she dodged it, only realizing as it was withdrawn that it contained water.

“Guess she's not as thirsty as we thought,” the man shrugged as he stood.

“No, wait,” Emily begged even as the man opened the bottle and upended it right in front of her, pouring the precious water onto the ground before her eyes. Without thinking she actually tried to catch any of it should could on her tongue, to no avail. Her captors found this highly entertaining.

“Should you believe we are enjoying this, you would be correct,” a slender man with a wide brimmed hat told her, his eyes viciously empty. “You and your little band were following us with the intent of killing us and taking our possessions, possibly taking our women prisoner for your own uses in the act. You’ll find sympathy for your situation in short supply.”

“Fuck you!” she managed to croak. She had to be strong. The strong survived.

“Not the way you smell, honey,” a man wearing a black cowboy hat snorted and the rest laughed at his tone. “No offense, really. I'd like to think I'm not that vain, but, while beauty may only skin deep, stink cuts to the bone. Man has to have standards.” More laughter at her expense. She distracted herself by imagining all the ways she was going to hurt these people once she was free and had help from her group. The man with the empty eyes knelt before her and she couldn't help looking at him, try as she might to avoid that gaze. It made her feel like a rabbit, looking at a wolf.

“I am quite sure you are busy considering all the ways you plan to get even with us once your present circumstances have improved,” his cultured accent spoke of softness, and she would have believed it if not for those eyes.

“I can assure you that your little fantasy is just that,” he continued. “A fantasy. You aren't going to escape, and should you manage to get free of your bonds you would not get far before you were either shot or else the dogs got you. Either way ends with you in the ground, forgotten.

“You do have the slimmest of chances to survive, however. That slim chance rests on you telling us what we want to know. Should you choose to do that then you may very well manage to extend your miserable life a few days, giving you the chance to convince someone that it would be profitable to keep you alive. Personally I consider that possibility fleeting, yet the chance does exist. So, with that in mind I would consider carefully the next few times someone comes to offer you water or to speak to you. Learning to control that uncouth mouth of yours is the first step in perhaps alleviating this painful situation you have placed yourself in. We will allow you to think on that in privacy for a while. Do enjoy your view,” he finished as he made a motion to someone she couldn't see. Before she could say anything she found herself hauled back around by her ankles to once more face the wheel of the bus.

“Damn you!” she rasped.

“A bit late for such sentiment my dear,” the voice was mocking and gentle. “I was damned long before you ever made the mistake of crossing my path.”

And then, she was alone again. Or at least she thought she was. Anyone and everyone from these vehicles could be standing behind her and she wouldn't know it. Her already present feeling of helplessness was gaining a new neighbor as she prepared to spend even more time bowed in the painful arch she'd been tied in; hopelessness.

She managed, barely, to bite back a sob that fought to escape her tortured throat, less someone hear it and consider it a sign of weakness. Only the strong would survive. She would not allow them the satisfaction.

She wouldn't.

***

“Thought she'd have broken by now,” Kevin Bodee said as he followed Clay, Xavier, Shane and Sienna Newell away from where their 'friend' was being kept.

“Not that one,” Xavier said absently. “There is a bit of iron in her. She will last a day or two more, in all likelihood. Pity.”

“X,” Clay said gently. “This isn't the place or the time.”

“I well understand that, sir,” Xavier promised, ever on his best behavior. “No worries.”

“Am I missing something?” Newell asked, looking from one man to the next.

“No,” the reply came in unison from Bodee and Clay.

“Not at all,” Xavier smiled at her, and despite the apparent friendliness of the action, Newell shivered ever so slightly.

“We're just speculating,” Clay told her, trying to change her attention from Xavier to something else. Anything else. “Speaking of, I noticed one of the people that came with you walking a dog?” he asked. “Was that you?”

“A Malinois,” Newell nodded. “Yes. She was a service dog candidate that didn't pan out. I was afraid she would be put down, so I adopted her. Kandi has another one, in fact. Same litter.”

“Is hers female?” Clay tried not to let his excitement show.

“Yeah,” Newell nodded.

“I guess they were spayed?” he asked carefully.

“No,” Newell frowned at the odd question. “They would have been if they had made the cut, of course. But since they didn't, the breeder didn't bother with the expense. Neither of us wanted to do it either. Not because of the expense but because they were both so pretty. Might have wanted pups one day if the world hadn't collapsed.”

“So they could have pups, then?” Clay finally allowed his excitement to show.

“If you had a boy Malinois, sure,” Newell chuckled.

“How about a boy German Shepherd?”

***

“Damn,” Newell said softly as she got a look at Bruce. “That is a huge frigging dog.”

“He is well fed,” Clay agreed. “We've got seven Kangal hounds too, and our resident animal expert has already put together a breeding program for them once they're of age, but they're all less than a year old at the moment. Be another year or so before she's ready to let them breed. Meanwhile, we also need non livestock dogs to help protect homes and children. The Kangals are great and are loving the attention from the kids at the moment, but they're already beginning to roam more like LGD hounds are prone to do, which is fine, that's why we wanted them.”

“But you wonder if good ol' Brucie there can help Bella and Petals give you a different kind of dog pack,” Newell said.

“Bella?” Clay asked. “And . . . Petals?”

“Yes?” Newell gave him a raised eyebrow as if to say 'is that a problem?', her tone indicating it better not be. Clay found himself liking the former MP.

“Bella, like short for Belladonna?” he guessed.

“Yes,” Newell drew the word out. “Most people assume it's for that vampire flick.”

“Vampire flick?” Clay was puzzled.

“Twilight?” Newell looked at him in surprise. “Cultural phenomenon among the more slow-witted around the world for the last ten years or so? Doesn't ring a bell? No pun intended.”

“Uh, I saw a vampire hunter movie with Jessica Biel when I was a kid,” Clay said hesitantly. “Blade . . . something? She was hot,” he added without thinking.

“Wow,” Newell whistled slowly. “You are really behind the times. But in this case you didn't really miss anything. Twinkly, teen romance angst disguised as a vampire movie complete with giant werewolves. Based on a series of books aimed at the angsty teen audience. Made a shit ton of money but sucked as a movie. Hadn't been for all those vampire loving teen angsty girls it would have flopped probably. Bella was a teen girl that was the central character and fell for a teen looking vampire and . . . you don't really care about any of this, do you?” she caught herself finally.

“Uh . . . ”

“Anyway, Bella is named for Belladonna,” she eyed him warily.

“Hey, we got a three thousand pound bull named Lancelot on this place,” Clay raised his hands, palm out. “Same girl that named him named one of the Kangals Gawain. My mom's favorite mare is named Buttercup. Belladonna is mild next to what some of the high priced cattle and horses around here are called. Petals isn't even that strange, really. Flower petals, I guess?”

“Got it in one,” Newell complimented. “Shame you're taken,” she teased. “You're pretty smart as well as decently cute.”

“Uh, thanks?”

“Yeah, but he ain't seen Twilight,” Shane sounded derisive. “What a loser.”

“Are you saying you have seen it?” Xavier asked innocently. Or at least as innocently as he was capable of.

“Of course not!”

“I haven't either,” Newell snorted. “Read all that on a website that makes fun of horrible movies. No way I'd see a vampire rip off like that.” She looked at Shane carefully.

“Though I am still concerned that you may have seen it.”

“I did not see Twilight!”

“Of course, Rat,” Clay was overly emphatic. “We completely believe you, buddy.”

“Loser,” Xavier stage whispered.

“Damn it, I did not see . . . ”

***

“Sure,” Jake shrugged. “That was always your plan wasn't it? If they come in heat, go for it. He should be okay for that. Other than a brief hungry spell when the lights first went out he's healthy so far as I know. Always has been. This is the first year he hasn't had his shots, for that matter.”

“And that will be a concern in the future, probably,” Clay sighed. “We’ll just have to let Dee Talbot deal with that. She either can do something about it or not. Either way it's out of our hands. Thanks Jake.”

“You bet,” his friend nodded. “So what's the story with these new folks?”

“Rest of my old team and the people they had collected,” Clay explained. “Got too hot out west so they headed here. Long trip. But apparently they picked up Mattie Simmons somewhere along the way and brought her home,” he remembered the tall girl from the day before and had asked about her later.

“No kidding!” Jake smiled at good news. “That's good to hear. I bet Dan and Betty will be glad to see her!”

“If we can find them,” Clay nodded. “Do you know where they lived?”

“Not exactly where, at least not to give you an address, but they lived off the highway between Peabody and Jordan. That I do know. I think the road . . . ” he paused, then shook his head. “I'm sorry man, I can't recall. One of those things you know when you see it. Greg probably knows.”

“Surely she’ll know where she lives,” Clay shrugged. “I just hope her folks are still there and okay. You don't know what they did, do you?”

“Dan is a stone mason if I recall right,” Jake's brow furrowed in concentration. “I think Betty worked for the school board, maybe? Secretary or something for the Supervisor of Schools? Not sure about that, though.”

“Well, assuming they need help, we could definitely use a skilled stone layer,” Clay mused.

“He built fireplaces, chimneys, half-walls, all kinds of stuff,” Jake nodded enthusiastically. “No idea how he'd make mortar.”

“Old timers used mud,” Clay shrugged. “Probably won't matter anyway. Thanks, Jake.”

“Anytime,” the big man replied. “I'm gonna take a look at those armored rigs later today. They sounded rough when those guys arrived yesterday.”

“Check with Newell to see which one she thinks is worse,” Clay told him. “She's experienced with them more than the rest.”

“Will do.”

***

“It's time for everyone to meet,” Clay told Shane. “We need to assemble everyone we can and let everyone introduce themselves and mingle a bit. We’ll do it at lunch and let everyone visit over a meal. Call it two hours. That should give your folks time to get ready, yeah?”

“Sure,” Shane nodded. “Sorry about Thatcher,” he added, this the first chance he'd had to speak to Clay alone. “She's been like that off and on for the whole trip. It's like it runs hot and cold. One minute she's with the program and the next . . . well,” he held up his hands to his sides. “To be honest, if she wasn't a doctor, I wouldn't have brought her along. And there was a time or two that even her being a doctor almost wasn't enough, ya know? But . . . I didn't know what I'd find here, or even if I'd find you at all and if I did, would you have medical personnel other than Doc. And while he's a damn find medic, that's a far cry from being an actual doctor, as he himself has reminded us on more than occasion.”

“Don't sweat it,” Clay clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Far from the first problem child we've had here, I promise. Long as she gets the job done, we’ll deal with her other issues as they come. What's her husband like?”

“One of the nicest guys you’ll meet,” Shane nodded. “Wonder sometimes how he ended up with her, to be honest. I would say something 'devoid of class' as X would say, but . . . I'm trying for a kinder, gentler side these days.”

“I'm sure,” Clay rolled his eyes. “See you at lunch.”

***

Clay had let the current residents introduce themselves first at the suggestion of Beverly Jackson. Her recommendation based on the theory that the newcomers would be more at ease introducing themselves before a group of strangers if they at least already knew their names and something about them.

“Now that's done, I’ll let Shane get started with his group,” Clay rose to speak to everyone. “We did this in hopes to make you feel welcome,” he told the new arrivals. “I know what you've been through has been tough. We don't want to make it any tougher for you by not getting you acquainted with the group and getting an idea of what you're letting yourselves in for,” he grinned and got several chuckles in return, including among the new folks.

“Well, I'm Shane Golden,” Shane stood. “Ex-Army and for better or worse the leader of this little expedition. I prefer to think it was for the better of course,” he added with a fake sniff of conceit, which drew laughter. “Basically, me, Stacey, Xavier and Kevin decided to stay nearer to what we all considered home when this began to play out. None of us had much in the way of family responsibilities and all of us were comfortable in that kind of climate and terrain, so it just made sense to us.”

“Unfortunately we weren't the only people who thought that, and pretty soon after the flare we decided that our plan wasn't going to work. We rolled out just as things began to get spotty and headed this way. At the time we didn't know if we could make it or what we'd find if we got here, but our position was untenable. Anyway, most of you don't want to hear all that,” he waved it away.

“As I said, I'm Shane Golden. I served with Clay for a long time and we came home together after . . . well, after. I'm afraid other than my martial abilities I don't have any real talents like some of you do, but I have a strong back and a weak mind so I'm perfect for hard labor at least.” This drew laughs all around as a grinning Shane took his seat. The man across from him stood next.

“I'm Kevin Bodee,” he introduced himself. “I served with Clayton as well, though not as long as Shane did. My folks died in a car crash during my first deployment several years back and I didn't have any siblings, so it was just me after that. As for talents and hobbies, about the only thing I can add to my military background is archery. I make bows and arrows, the old ways, and the occasional knife. Hopefully that will be useful enough that I don't have to join 'strong back and weak mind' here on the labor line,” he motioned to Shane. Another round of laughter rolled down the tables as he sat.

“My name is Xavier Adair,” the man seated next to Shane stood as Bodee sat. “I am very much afraid that there is nothing whatsoever about me that most people find interesting. I am somewhat knowledgeable in two disciplines of the martial arts, which I am glad to teach to those with the interest and discipline needed to learn them. I will make myself useful in whatever way I can.” And with that Xavier abruptly returned to his seat, though his movements were in no way hurried. While most were caught by surprise with the abrupt introduction, the next man was not and stood even as Xavier sat back down.

“My name's Stacey Pryor,” he smiled winningly at everyone. “Nice to meet you, though I admit the circumstances could have been better,” he got laughs for that one. “That said, I'm really glad to be here, and to hook back up with Bossman. It was a rough trip to get here, to be sure, but looking at you all and this place you've done made for yourself, I can see that it was worth it. I look forward to adding to it any way I can. I’ll prob'ly have to join Shane in the “strong back, weak mind' category, but I don't mind that at all. Makes the day go faster. I'm glad to be here and meet you all.”

“Well said,” Franklin George nodded, raising his tea glass to the younger man, who smiled in reply. Beside Franklin, Marcy George looked at Pryor with keen interest. Malitha George did not miss that and frowned ever so slightly, but said nothing.

The next to stand was Thatcher. Captain Thatcher that was, her pinched face showing her apparent irritation not only with the whole situation, but also at having others go before her.

“I'm Captain Jaylyn Thatcher,” she said, her voice just short of haughty. “This is my husband, Roddy,” she indicated the man seated next to her, who smiled and waved but remained seated. “I'm an Army doctor who was stationed at Fort Hood, Texas, when I encountered Sergeant Golden and decided he had a good plan. Things were quite literally falling apart, even in the Army.

“While I am a trauma specialist by trade, I can also serve as a general practitioner as well. I truthfully haven't had time to develop any real hobbies or additional skills, between school and my duty in the service. Roddy is a truck driver. When I'm deployed, rather whenever I was deployed, he would work over the road, then work locally when I was home. I consider myself extremely fortunate to have a husband who understands what it means to have a military spouse, and I'm grateful that he has always been there to support me,” she smiled down at him, and Clay noted it was a warm, sincere smile.

“I feel sure both of us will be able to contribute meaningfully to this community in the days ahead,” she concluded, taking her seat. Next up was Ledford.

“Hi,” she waved, getting several waves in return, particularly from the single guys in the room. “I'm Kandi Ledford, and yeah, that's my real name. Parents with a sense of humor, what can I say.” Laughter deflected anyone saying something about her name. “I was a lieutenant in the Army, part of what we call Sustainment Command. My old CO said that was a glorified term for Supply Clerk, so I suppose he would know,” she laughed. “While I've actually had a great deal of training, my skills in organization and computer programs landed me in the supply business pretty much as soon as I got out of training and that was that. I learned about this trip from my roommate,” she indicated Newell, “and decided to throw in as well. I managed to make myself useful to Shane and in return he let me tag along. As far as useful hobbies, I doubt that reading romance novels will be of any real use nowadays,” she blushed slightly, but smiled at the chuckles from down the tables. “But, my mind is strong even if my back isn't, so hopefully I can make a good contribution somewhere. Oh, I can at least cook,” she added as an afterthought. “That might be useful.”

“She can more than just 'cook',” Newell said as she stood next. “Hello. My name is Sienna Newell, and as Kandi said, she and I were roommates. Have been for about three years now. Kandi is holding out on the 'I can cook' card. She's been taking chef classes for over a year. I needed extra PT thanks to her cooking,” she snorted even as Kandi turned beet red. “I was an MP, and served three tours overseas, two in Iraq and another in Afghanistan. While I've never been a civilian law enforcement officer, I do have civil government training in order to fill that role when needed. Likely not of much use now, but just so you know. As for any additional skills, I'm actually a decent mechanic, can weld and do some basic machining.” She saw a very large man wearing overalls perk up at that information and made a note to seek him out when this was over.

“I am very glad to be here,” she continued. “I was extremely fortunate to encounter Shane and his group, and we were able to help each other. I'd like to think that we all gelled a good bit on this journey and became something of an extended family. They're good people who don't shirk work or responsibilities, and in this new world, that means a lot. It's a pleasure to meet all of you, and I look forward to the opportunity to get to know you.”

“Virgil Wilcox,” the tall, lean man next to her was next. “I've been Army since I graduated from high school, longer ago than I like to think on,” he admitted to several laughs down the table. “I've had several assignments, but the longest was Third Cavalry, which is where I met up with Shane and the others. I'm sorry to have to tell you that my skills as a soldier are pretty much all I have. I did manage to help out a bit on getting things going once we were ready to leave Hood, but otherwise, I'm afraid I'm just a grunt. I've had combat billet’s my entire career and have deployed seven times in total while serving two other tours in non-conflict theaters. I will do whatever I can to make myself useful in whatever way is needed. Thank you for having me.” He sat down and no one immediately took his place as the civilians looked at one another. Finally the shorter woman in the 'couple' Clay had noticed the day before, stood up, looking much put upon.

“My name is Trudy Leighton,” she sounded as if she were permanently angry. “I'm Shane's second cousin and owe that for being able to make this trip. This is my girlfriend, Gwen,” she indicated the taller woman to her right. “If that's a problem, it's your problem, not ours. Make sure you remember that,” she glared at everyone. Several people stirred but no one spoke, the hostility catching them by surprise.

“Dammit, Trudy,” Shane hissed. “You bring most of the 'problems' on yourself with shit just like this. If you can't be polite even at first meeting then sit your fat ass down and shut the hell up!” Leighton flushed red at that and was about to retort when her girlfriend grabbed her shoulder and pulled her down, standing in her place.

“I apologize for her,” she said, nearly slapping Leighton when she began to protest. “My name is Gwendolyn Paige, but Gwen is fine. Trudy and I have been together for five years, and she can be a handful even for me, so please don't take offense. She's used to being defensive, and she does that by taking the offense first. I'm afraid at this point it's habit.”

“I'm a seamstress, working . . . well, I did work, I should say, for a tailoring service that altered custom suits and dresses to fit. Exciting, huh?” she smiled and was relieved to see smiles in return, hoping she had undone some of the damage that her aggressive girlfriend had done.

“Trudy was an ad manager for one of the largest papers in Texas,” she said proudly. “Before that she was a dental hygienist, despite her chair-side manner,” she threw in. “And despite her attitude, we really are not only fortunate to be here but also grateful. If not for Shane, we'd be stuck in Austin Texas with no way to help ourselves. I don't know how effective we can be here, though as I said I can sew quite well. We will do whatever we have to in order to be part of the community.” She sat down to a glare from her girlfriend and the two spent several angry seconds exchanging words only the two of them could hear.

“I'm Kurtis Montana,” the whipcord thin youth across from the arguing couple stood. “I was a predator hunter for the Fish and Wildlife people, and a seasonal fire jumper. I met Shane when he was looking for a place to hole up, though I didn't know that at the time. We got to know each other and when things got real he offered me a place with them. I, uh, can shoot really good and can fight wildfires. From the look of the land as we came through you could have used that a while back. If there's a next time maybe I can be of some use. In the meanwhile, I've spent a lot of time working part time on ranches out west, so I can handle horses and cattle fairly well, and I've driven many a fence post and pulled a lot of wire. Reckon I can do that here, too, if you need it. Thanks for having us.” With that he took his seat.

“I'm Cliff Laramie,” the older man next to him stood. “I drove a fuel truck before all this started. Matter of fact, I did that for Shane on the way here, too. Like Sienna I'm a decent shade tree mechanic, though not as skilled as she is, especially on the military rigs. My wife and I divorced three years ago when she traded me for a wealthier model,” he smiled to take the sting from his words. “So, it was just me when Shane found me and my dead fuel truck on the side of the road. Offered me the chance to join them and I jumped at it. Luckiest thing to happen to me ever, to be honest. I appreciate the chance to join him, and to be a part of your community.” As he sat down a young woman dressed all in black, including her make-up, stood up. Her long black hair trailed down her back, held in check with a band around her head. She was clearly of Asian decent. Probably Chinese, Clay decided.

“My name is Millie Long,” she spoke English without any accent. “I'm a hacker for the most part, which is not in demand these days since most computers are deader than Abe Lincoln. But I am a fair hand at electronics and can repair and build things like circuit boards. Again that's not overly useful at this point. My only hobby was ham radio, and yet again that isn't much use since my equipment was fried when the sun burped on us. Shane found me foraging for food and needed someone to monitor radios for him, lucky me. And I mean that. If not for him and the rest, I don't honestly know what would have become of me. I don't like to think on it, truthfully.”

“You were a ham operator?” Deuce asked from down the table. “Anything else along that line?”

She looked at him for a few seconds, as if weighing whether to reply or not.

“He's part of our radio room crew,” Clay told her, hoping to head off a problem.

“Oh,” Long seemed to relax at that. “Uh, yeah, I used short wave to . . . well, for a lot of things,” she shrugged. “I have a little experience with long wave because it was something my parents used in Taiwan to talk to mainland China. It's limited though. I'm also familiar with side-band and FM equipment, the FM not as much as the rest, and I can build equipment, too.”

“Awesome,” Deuce nodded. Long noticed the girl beside him doing the same thing.

“I'm glad you approve,” she couldn't help add, and noticed that rather than get angry, the two grinned wider.

“I think we can find a place for you,” the girl, Leanne she thought, said. “You’ll fit right in with us.”

“Great,” Long said dryly, but couldn't help smile at the two. “I’ll try to be useful.” She sat down, feeling somehow odd at the exchange but unable to decide just why that was. The last man in their group was standing. A tall, graying black man with the look of a strong but gentle soul. Despite the fact that he was probably in his fifties, his arms were heavy with muscle that could only be earned in labor rather than reps in the gym.

“My name is Moses Brown,” his voice was a rich, pleasing baritone. “I wasn't sure what I could do for you until we got here and I saw your operation,” he said to Clay. “I'm a butcher by trade,” he said and Clay found himself smiling back.

“Hot damn,” Ronny Tillman said, getting an elbow from his pregnant wife.

“Language,” she warned. “You've got to break that habit.”

“Like I said, I'm a butcher by trade and have been for twenty years,” Brown continued. “I started in slaughterhouses and then managed to hire on with a grocery that wanted a butcher's apprentice. I had opened my own shop about five years before the calamity hit. I have to admit I ain't got much in the way of a hobby, especially after I opened my own place. Hopefully I can be useful in some way when you don't need meat cut. I can drive a rig, so I guess that's a talent, at least. And I can drive a tractor a little, though I don't know if I could help you farm an outfit this size,” he admitted.

“If you can drive at all, it helps,” Robert fielded that one. “We're working more land than we did before the CME and harvest will be here before you know it. Glad to have you.”

“Thank you,” Brown bowed slightly. “I am glad I could make the trip. Shane needed a driver and . . . well, I didn't have any reason not to take the offer, to be honest. That's how I ended up here. It's a pleasure to meet all of you, even under the circumstances. Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to be part of your community.” He sat down and people up and down the table looked around. Mattie Simmons was sitting with Abby and Sam, and slowly stood up, towering over the table.

“Most of you probably know me, or at least know my folks,” her voice wasn't weak exactly, but it was subdued. “I went to University of Memphis on a double ride in volleyball and basketball. When the sun did whatever I was in Houston at an away game. I was trying to walk home when Shane and his group stopped and offered me a chance to join them. I . . . when he told me where they were going it was like a literal sign from God. There was no way they could know where I was from, right? Anyway, I had walked I really don't know how far, and here was a chance to ride home, maybe, and at least be safer than I had been in a month, so . . . I took the chance and joined them.” She looked then at Shane, who flushed ever so slightly but hid it well.

“And he brought me home,” Mattie finished and sat down.

Before anyone could speak, the door opened to reveal Leon. He hadn't wanted to sit through the entire thing, but had agreed to come down and be introduced to the group as a whole. He leaned heavily on his staff, Janice no more than a hand's width away. Brick followed them inside, closing the door behind him. Clay was about to call out a welcome when he heard a chair scrape on the floor. He turned to see Xavier Adair on his feet, facing the approaching trio as if he expected trouble. That was odd, but it was the look on his face that shocked Clay.

Clay had known Xavier a long time. Years. But even in combat he had never seen much in the way of facial expressions from him. His smile was wide enough, but empty. He simply seemed incapable of expressing emotion on any meaningful level.

But right now his face was almost a snarl as he looked toward where Leon was approaching. A look of savage anger that finally matched the person he knew Xavier to be. But where in the hell could he have run across Leon before? He turned to ask, just in time to see Brick stop dead in his tracks, stiffening like a dog that had seen a rival in his yard.

Oh. Shit.

“Hell is wrong with you?” Leon growled over his shoulder, then did a double take when he saw the look on Brick's face. He turned slowly to see the object of Brick's displeasure with a matching look on a smaller face. No less savage; just smaller.

“Oh,” was all Leon said as he navigated out of the way, Janice going with him. She knew something was wrong, but not what. Her attention was focused on 'Mister Leon' not falling and hurting himself.

Both Brick and Xavier took two steps toward on another before stopping short, as if remembering where they were.

“Xavier,” Brick spoke first, his voice brittle.

“Byron,” Xavier's voice wasn't any better.

“Far from home,” Brick said.

“As are you,” Xavier nodded.

“I see you're as dainty as ever,” Brick's smile was . . . ugly. Clay had never seen such a look on his face before.

“I see you've maintained your girlish figure,” Xavier gave as good as he got.

“I had no idea you were part of this group or I would have made sure to welcome you properly,” Brick kept that same frigid smile on as he spoke.

“I assure you had I known you were here my own arrival would have been much different,” Xavier agreed. “I was sure you would still be plying your trade for whomever could afford to pay you. I never expected to see you in such . . . small, circumstances.”

“Things do change,” was all Brick said in reply. Suddenly he seemed to realize that everyone was staring at them. He looked at Leon, who was watching him closely.

“I’ll wait for you outside,” he said. “Apologies for interrupting,” he added to Clay before turning to leave.

“Tu ne devrais pas partir sur mon compte, frère,” Xavier sounded mocking as he spoke, almost taunting it seemed. Brick froze as soon as he heard whatever it was Xavier was saying. He turned very slowly, his face a mask.

“Es muss wirklich das Ende der Welt sein, damit Sie mich so ansprechen,” he almost whispered. And with that he was out the door, leaving a stunned crowd behind. Xavier turned to face them, his face once more the mask of affability that he usually wore.

“What the hell was that?” Shane demanded before Clay could.

“Nothing,” Xavier shook his head. “An unwelcome and unwanted surprise. Nothing more than that.”

“Bullshit,” Shane once more beat Clay to the punch.

“Later, if you please,” Xavier looked from one to the other. “I'd prefer not to discuss my business in front of everyone like some common hawker.”

“Yeah, sure,” Clay nodded. He looked quizzically at the Old Man, who just shrugged.

“Hell if I know,” Leon admitted. He made his way to the head of the table nearest the newcomers.

“I'm Leon Sanders,” he told them without fanfare. “Most just call me Old Man, and I answer to it just fine. I'm Clayton's grandfather and part owner of this outfit with him and my son. We tried to lay in and be as prepared as we could for all this, but we're as human as the rest and we missed things. We also miscalculated on some people. Took in people that we maybe shouldn't have. That happens in times like these. They say you don't really know a man 'til you see him desperate. Reckon that is true, and we done seen it first hand. I'm willing to bet you done have as well.

“We're making it, but I ain't gonna lie; it's hard. Ever single person on this place works at least two jobs, and some more. That don't mean an eight hour shift, mind you, but there's a lot to do, and it has to get done, plain and simple. While things ain't like they used to be, we have managed to save a good bit. We know that ain't gonna last, though, and we're trying to prepare for that, too.

“Clayton probably told you, but if not, here's the layout. We got the place on the hill, the family homesteads, and Clay has this place. We got an orphanage on the hill made up of kids we took from a grade A sum'bitch who was using them to trick us. One of the little fellas had a broken arm that my granddaughter-in-law had to re-break in order to set it right. We're maybe not the best folks you’ll ever meet, but damned if we’ll tolerate shit like that. The women among their crowd that had their own children are looking after the orphanage and trying to make good. We're giving them the chance, the rest is up to them.

“We been attacked three, four times at least,” he looked at Clay, who nodded slowly. “Lost a man or two, got a few still injured,” he indicated Corey Raynard who still wore his sling.

“You live here, don't doubt it will be hard. Living off the land ain't never been easy and I don't image it ever will be. Just a fact. This place will feed us if we work and take care of it. We got water, we got crop land, and we got stock. We can make it. But you've done learned on your trip here that there are them that are just waiting to take what you work for. There's a trench out yonder,” he pointed east, “full of people who tried to take this place already. Room for more as needed. Be prepared to defend this place. If you ain't, and you're able, then we don't need you. That ain't being rude, it's just cold hard facts. We got too many people now that can't defend themselves, most especially all these young ones. We can't coddle an able bodied adult who can defend themselves but won't. Don't expect you to go out fightin' anywhere else, just expect your help defending the place. No more or less than all of us, me included.

“Despite everything I had to say just now, we're glad to see you, and to have you here,” Leon's breathing was becoming labored as he spoke and Janice looked concerned. “I hope I ain't made you feel otherwise. I know Clay sets store by you boys,” he looked at Shane at the rest of Clay's teammates sitting near him, “and I assume your judgment of the people you brought along is good. I’ll keep assuming that until I'm proven wrong.

“We can't afford no infightin'” Leon told them. “We work and stand as a group, or we fall that way. So far we're standing. You're welcome to settle here, so long as you help us keep standing. I know you had a hell of a trip and Clayton has already said you won't none of you have any duties of any kind for a day or two. I'm making it three days from today. We've covered this long, we can manage a few days to let you rest. I would imagine it won't truly hit you until tomorrow that you've rode along the edge of hell to get here. When it does, you’ll need a minute. You’ll have it.

“I hope to get to know you all as things move on, but as you can te . . . tell, I ain't always well, so I'ma have to cut this short. Welcome to the Sanders' Ranch.” With that he patted Janice on the arm and they started for the door. Zach ran to open it for them, holding it until they stepped out and then following.

“Well,” Clay broke silence. “That, ladies and gentlemen, was the Old Man, in all his glory.” Gentle laughter rolled down the table from old hands and new alike. “He's had a respiratory problem that won't hardly leave, so he gets a bit short of breath at times. Don't always know if it's a curse or a blessing,” he snorted.

“Clayton Sanders!” Angela scolded while everyone else laughed.

“He'd say the same thing,” Robert chuckled, earning him a glare from his mother as well.

“All right, you heard the man,” Clay brought the meeting to a close. “Three days’ rest and recuperation. Just what the doctor ordered. Relax, rest, recover. If we have an emergency we may have to call on you for help, but otherwise, just take it easy. Like Leon said, you've earned it just making the trip. And we're glad to have all of you join us. That's it.”

Slowly the assembly broke apart as people gradually levitated to those they wanted to speak to. For Clay and Shane, that meant Xavier Adair.

CHAPTER FOUR

“You wanna tell me what the hell that was all about?” Leon growled as Brick drove them home on the golf cart.

“Ghost of Christmas past, Leon,” Brick said calmly. “That's all.”

“That's all my ass,” Leon shot back. “You two looked like you was about to square off in a Roman arena.”

“Wouldn't be the first time,” Brick said without thinking, then winced.

“Is this gonna be a problem?” Leon wanted to know.

“Almost certainly.”

***

“You wanna tell us what the hell that was all about?” Clay demanded as he and Shane cornered Xavier outside.

“Not particularly, no,” came the unruffled reply. “Suffice it to say had I known he was here, I would not have made the trip. That's all.”

“That's all my ass!” Shane shot back, unknowingly echoing Leon's own sentiments. “We roll in here, new to the area, and I have to find out the hard way you already had a run in with someone here?”

“I have already said I was unaware of his presence,” Xavier pointed out. “And our 'run in' as you refer to it was long ago. I've not even seen him in years. I had held the fondest hope that he was dead.” His voice took on a wistful note neither had heard very often. Never was it a good sign.

“What?” Clay was shocked to say the least. “What the hell could you have against a bartender from a strip club?”

Clay didn't know what he was expecting exactly, but booming laughter from Xavier Adair was not it. Not at all.

And truthfully, it was a scary laugh.

***

“Brick, we can't have no kinda trouble around here,” Leon said. He had held off on any more discussion until he was seated in his house, oxygen mask over his face. “Now what the hell is going on between you and him?”

“I'm afraid it's an old and long story,” Brick answered. “And one I don't feel like discussing this evening.”

“Well just when do you figure you’ll feel up to it, then?” Leon demanded. “‘cause from where I stood, it looked as if the two of you couldn't wait to tear into one 'nother and go for blood.”

“That is not an inaccurate summation,” Brick nodded slowly. “It would in fact not be exaggerating to say he is quite possibly my greatest enemy,” his voice was almost a whisper.

“And how in the hell would that have happened?”

***

“A bouncer?” Xavier was almost crying with laughter. “In a strip club! Oh, had I only known that earlier!”

“Well, that's how I met him,” Clay informed him. “Working for the Old Man as security for a club he owned in Nashville.”

Xavier's attitude changed abruptly, his laughter dying away as he straightened.

“He worked for your Old Man?” he asked carefully.

“Yeah,” Clay nodded. “He ran the club on the floor and my girlfriend managed the business end of it. Old Man carried me up there when I got home. Actually I was going anyway to pick up some freeze-dried foods and Leon decided he wanted to go and offered to pay, so . . .  Anyway, Leon owned the place so we could hide the truck inside and there was an apartment upstairs we stayed in for the night. Why?”

“Oh, Clayton,” Xavier actually sounded as if he pitied Clay. “You need to have a very long talk with your grandfather before I say anything else. And you need to have it somewhere Byron can't hear.”

“How do you know his name like that anyway?” Clay asked. “I don't know how long it was before I heard of him as anything other than Brick.”

“After you talk to your grandfather, Clayton,” Xavier was shaking his head. “And do not do it in Byron's hearing. Fair warning.”

“Are you saying I can't trust him?” Clay demanded.

“I'm saying you need to ask your grandfather exactly how it is he came to know my brother.”

***

“Your brother!” Leon screeched. “Wait. Is that what he called you? Before you left?”

“In French,” Brick nodded his head slowly. “Frère. One of several languages we were both taught to speak. He told me not leave on his account. I replied in German that it must be the end of the world for him to call me that. I have not seen him in years but he is indeed my younger brother.”

“How in the hell do two brothers end up facin' off like you two just did?” Leon asked. “I mean . . . Gordon fought with his older brother, God rest him, and Robert and Clayton fought like cats and dogs even though Robert is a lot older. But never did I see them looking at one another like you two was.”

“As I said before, it is a long, old story,” Brick sighed tiredly. He suddenly looked older. “I'm sure he thought me dead. No doubt hoped for it. It is his way,” he shrugged.

“Brick,” Leon said carefully, “just how bad is this?”

Brick looked at Leon quietly for a moment before replying.

“One of us will have to go.”

***

“What do you mean 'one of you has to go'?” Shane frowned. “What kinda shit is that? This is a big place ain't it? Just . . . stay away from each other.”

“If I know where he is, then I will try to kill him,” Xavier didn't yield an inch. “Something of which he is acutely aware. Thus he will look to kill me first. The two of us cannot remain in the same place, or even in the same area. He was here first,” he looked at Clay, then. “I will leave if you wish. I have been alone before. It is not a burden.”

“For fuck's sake,” Clay swore, his tone bitter. “Can you stop playing the martyr long enough to tell us what in the actual fires of hell this is about?”

***

“Did I ever tell you how I came to be . . . to have the skills which first brought me to your attention?” Brick asked Leon.

“No,” the Old Man admitted. “I never asked that I know of. Didn't reckon it was no never mind between us.”

“I appreciate that,” Brick nodded. “More than simple words may reflect. One of the things I always admired about you Leon was your ability to see the gray. Most see the world as black or white. Good or bad. Right or wrong. You know, as do I, that it is never so simple as that.”

“That's true,” Leon nodded slowly. “Been a bone of contention 'tween me and Gordon on many occasion. I think that's one reason me and the boy . . . Clayton, is so close. He sees things the same way.”

“Yes,” Brick nodded firmly. “He has a moral code that he follows rigidly, but it is not necessarily the same code that the rest of the world would consider proper. I suppose one of the things Xavier and I share in common is the ability to see that gray.” He paused, clearly deciding what to say next.

“You know that I once was engaged to be married,” he said finally. Leon nodded. “You also know that she was killed. What you don't know is that she was murdered. Killed by a terrorist hired by a foreigner to kill a diplomat that was visiting Georgetown. He killed eight people including my Yasmine, but oddly enough he missed his target.”

“Damn,” Leon grunted.

“I admit I was . . . not in a good place,” Brick continued. “Grief does strange things to the mind, as you are all too aware. In my grief I . . . made a choice that there was no returning from. With the benefit of hindsight I can see that perhaps it was not the proper choice, but at the time all I could see was a need for revenge. When I had the opportunity, I took it.

“But one does not simply become an assassin and then return to his old life, Leon. One cannot turn his back on his family for such a reason and then just return to them as if nothing has happened. My father, he understood of course. Would have done the same thing had it been my mother. But . . . my mother . . . my mother was one of those people who believed that the law must be obeyed no matter what. I always respected her for following the law herself. For practicing as she preached, so the old saying goes. She never exceeded the speed limit, never ran a red light or rolled through a stop sign, she would scold us even for returning a library book late. Said that breaking even the smallest of rules was a slippery slope, that society needed the rule of law to function properly. As it turns out, she knew what she was talking about.

“I had been working freelance for about four years when someone got a picture of me. Not a good one, really, but then I am rather distinctive, and a mother knows her child, no? Somehow my mother saw it, I don't know just how. On the news I suppose. My father simply shrugged and went back to what he was doing. My mother did not take it nearly so well, I'm afraid.

***

“When my mother realized that her oldest son had become an assassin for hire it broke her heart,” Xavier told them. “I suppose she may have loved Byron more than me, as he was her first born. Science and myth both claim there is a closer bond between the oldest and the mother, but since I am not the oldest I would not know.

“My father was like me, like us I should say since he still lives,” Xavier almost spat. “Cold, calculating, he made his decisions just as he would solve a math problem. Do not pretend,” he chided two men he actually considered not only friends but brothers as they looked uncomfortable. “I have seen your reactions to me, how you look at me sometimes. Do you not think I realize I am defective? We both are. We were born that way thanks to my father's genetic make up. A product of the perfect home,” he smiled bitterly.

“My father simply looked to see if Byron was successful or not and then moved on. He already knew what Byron was doing, had from the start. Probably helped him get started for that matter. And had he stopped with his own need for revenge, I think even my mother would have understood. She would have been angry, of course, but I think she would have understood. She loved Yasmine dearly and looked forward to her becoming part of the family.

“But once opened, flood gates like that are difficult to close, no? I should think I'm proof enough of that.”

***

“Had I gone back and then been recognized somehow, it would have brought shame to my family,” said Brick. “Especially my mother.” Janice has entered the room long enough to pour them both a cup of coffee before heading for the radio room. Corey Raynard had walked up to escort her down, leaving the two of them alone once more.

“So . . . I simply continued down the path I had started. It never bothered me any, you know. Killing has never been a problem for me. I can see that Xavier is the same so it's likely genetic. Our father was not unkind, but he was uncaring. He had his responsibilities as he saw them, and he met them if not exceeded them, but . . . it was duty to him. I think he loved my mother, and he may have even loved Xavier and I after a fashion, but he was utterly incapable of showing it, my mother the lone exception. I suspect that my father was a high-functioning sociopath, as I believe myself to be. Just as I suspect my younger brother could be, if not worse. I am sure that modern geneticists would have a field day examining the three of us, were they still able to do so properly. Regardless, my father had no care for what I was doing, nor did he worry about my bringing shame upon him. So long as I was good at what I did, nothing else mattered. And I was very good.”

“That you were,” Leon sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands. “Brick, this is a damn mess. We can't have the two of you at each other’s throats like this.”

“No,” Brick agreed. “As I said, one of us will have to go. I made you a promise, Leon, that I would be here for Clayton, and for Lainie. Under the circumstances however, I believe it would be best for me to depart. Xavier is obviously close to Clay and the others, and his skills will be useful to you here. He is part of a team whereas I have never been anything but alone.”

“No,” Leon said at once. “No. I refuse to accept that this is the only answer. With the world in the shape it's in right now, surely the two if you can lay this aside. You ain't got to be family but surely you can be civil to one another!”

“We do not do civil, Leon,” Brick said easily. “You just saw us as civil as we get. The last time we saw one another he tried very hard to stab me.”

***

“Pity he was wearing that vest,” Xavier almost purred. “It would have been a perfect strike. Right through the heart.”

“X, do you realize how fucked up that is?” Shane asked softly. “To hear you talking like that about your own brother?”

“I don't get it,” Clay shook his head, turning to face Xavier again. “I don't. I get that your mother was disappointed, I do. God knows mine was in me. Probably still is,” he admitted. “And I get the older brother thing, too. I was way younger than even Alicia, though, so I really was the baby in the family. Hell, my brother's oldest is only six years younger than me.”

“But I can't see you not being okay with your brother taking his revenge, even if it did mean walking a path like that afterward. Have you changed that much since then that you're the pot talking bad about the kettle? I mean let’s face it, X, none of us are angels.” Xavier laughed softly at that. Not the booming laughter of before, but soft, mocking laughter.

“You think I actually care that he took revenge for Yasmine? You think I give a righteous damn about any of that? Please,” he scoffed. “I couldn't possibly care any less.”

“My mother, on the other hand . . . imagine having to come to terms with the fact that a child you raised has become an assassin and a mercenary, a killer wanted in half-a-dozen countries. Imagine seeing an image of that child on the television whilst among your oldest friends. The shock of recognizing that the image you were seeing, that they were seeing, was actually your oldest son. Having to look around in secret to see if there was a spark of recognition among them that tied that blurred image to your missing son.”

“I do not know how strong willed your mother is, Clayton,” Xavier looked him in the eye. “My mother was strong willed, but she did not have a strong heart. Nor did she have the mental state necessary to face such a hardship. Not after the shooting, the loss of both of them.”

Oh. Oh, damn.

“It was too much for her to bear, especially considering the lack of support from my father. My mother suffered a heart attack three days after his picture was plastered on every news service in America. She died in her sleep. Crying.”

***

“And he blames me for that,” Brick finished. “Perhaps rightly so. I . . . I gave no thought to what effect such a revelation would have on her. It is as likely as not that the news pushed her already weak heart into arrest. I will never know and I cannot change it. That is something I have to bear for the rest of my life. Unfortunately, Xavier has to bear it as well.”

“Well, shit,” Leon breathed the expletive out heavily. “This has just been one hell of a day, ain't it?”

“Indeed,” Brick got to his feet. “If you will excuse me, I think I will retire for the evening. I am genuinely sorry for this trouble, Leon,” he said after a second of hesitation. “Had I even suspected he would be among your grandson's friends, I would never have come here. I could have made my way in Nashville I'm sure.”

“Stop that horseshit,” Leon demanded at once. “We've known each other a fair few years. I said you were welcome here, and I did that knowing exactly who and what you were. That ain't changed, and won't. I am sorry about your mother,” he added softly. “That . . . that's a hard burden for a man to have to bear.”

“It is what it is,” Brick shrugged. “Goodnight, Leon.”

“Night, Brick.”

***

“Didn't even have the decency to come to the funeral,” Xavier finished. “Of course I should probably be grateful for that. My father just . . . stood there and when it was over, we went home as if it were the funeral of someone else rather than my mother. Went back to work the next day and . . . that was that. Business as usual in the Wentworth household,” he added without thinking.

“Wentworth?” Shane straightened up.

“Well, shit,” Xavier sighed. “I don't suppose you'd be willing to forget you heard that,” he looked at the two of them. “Ah, I doubt it matters now, in any case,” he waved the request off as soon as he had said it.

“Your family name?” Clay asked.

“My father's name,” Xavier nodded. “My mother's maiden name was Adair, and it was part of my full name. It was legal to join the Army under that name.”

“Well that's a relief,” Shane broke the tension. “I was afraid there for a minute you had lied on your enlistment paperwork. We don't need that kind of trouble now of all times.” His sarcasm was thick.

“It sounds as if you came from a well to do family, X,” Clay mused. “No offense, and I mean that, but why in the hell would you join the Army anyway? There had to be a better life for you there, even considering your father. Right?”

“You mean the kind of life you gave up here, Clayton?” Xavier tilted his head slightly as if studying his former commander. “Do not always assume the grass is ever greener. But the answer to your question is rather simple, really. A taste for blood and violence is rather hard to hide or even disguise in the circles I grew up in. Whereas in the Army, especially in counter-terrorism forces, such issues are considered an asset to the team, are they not?”

Both Shane and Clay looked uncomfortable at that, realizing what Xavier was getting at.

“I joined the Army, and eventually the CTG, as an expedient. I was able to . . . alleviate, let us call it, my search for the answer I seek while drawing no attention to myself in the process. Unlike certain gorilla-like buffoons who care nothing at all for appearances or decorum.”

“Answer to what?” Shane asked, stunned by all that he had heard in the last few minutes. Had he ever known his friend at all? Hell, was Xavier even actually his friend? Was he even capable of having friends?

“Answer to the most burning question in my life, of course,” Xavier's smile was empty as it always was. “Why can't I be like you?”

***

Lainie frowned at the distant look on Clay's face as he walked into the cabin, absently setting his rifle down by the door as he removed his boots.

“Something wrong, Cowboy?” she asked, walking over to him.

“Where to start,” he snorted, accepting her embrace and returning it.

“I noticed the exchange between Brick and that other man,” she nodded. “Xavier, wasn't it? Unusual name.”

“Did you know Brick's name was Byron when he worked at the club?” Clay asked. “Or did you learn it here, after we all got here?”

“I knew it, but . . . just because I heard Leon call him that once,” she replied, thinking about it. “He never actually gave more than Brick for a name. Said his last name was House and would laugh about it. Brick House. Get it? I always thought it was a cute pun but never gave any more thought to it than that.”

“Me either, even after I heard his real name,” Clay agreed. “I can't even remember when I heard the name Byron, if I'm honest.”

“What does this have to do with what happened earlier?” she asked.

“This has to stay between you and me for now,” he warned. “I don't know what will come of all this, just yet. So it has to stay here. Okay?”

“Of course,” she nodded, concern growing.

“Well, first off . . . his name isn't House . . . ”

***

Shane walked slowly in the dim lights out to check on their 'guest'. No one was assigned to watch her anymore, not directly, as the ground watch would check on her every so often. If she did escape then the dogs could track her down, no problem, and by now her arms and legs wouldn't be in any shape to get far, regardless.

He wasn't really thinking about her, anyway. His mind was still trying to wrap itself around what Xavier had revealed to him and to Clay. He had known that X was messed up. They all could see it over the years. No one had judged him for it, though, since most of the rest had issues that ran pretty much as deep. But Shane doubted any of them had known just how bad off Xavier Adair was. He damn sure hadn't. Hadn't had a clue.

He almost stumbled across the woman lying still hogtied on the ground. She was rasping something out to him as he approached, throat obviously strained and dry. Kneeling, he pulled her head back by the hair and placed a plastic cup to her mouth. She drank greedily from it, the precious liquid actually hurting her throat during the first drink or two, she was so dry. He made her drink it all at one go before releasing her hair and standing, leaving the cup on the ground.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please.”

“How many women begged your people that same way?” he asked her quietly.

“I . . . I never had an . . . anything to do with that,” she replied.

“Didn't help them either, though, now did you?” Shane kept going. This was the first time she had admitted to anything at all.

“Cou . . . couldn't,” she shook her head as much as she could. “Same thing would ha . . . happen to me.”

“Uh-huh,” Shane didn't buy it for a second. “Did you object at all? I'm willing to bet your family is a big part of your operation, which means part of keeping women prisoner just like this. Maybe kids, too? There's no way that someone as careless as you acted in the field was given that position on merit. That means nepotism. Father? Uncle? Brother? Somebody got you inside and then had you placed in that position.”

“No,” she shook her head, but he could hear in her voice, weak though it was, that he had hit a nerve. He was at least close if not on target.

“See you tomorrow, toots,” Shane told her, walking away even as she begged him to return.

She wouldn't last much longer. Another day at most.

A day he could spend trying to figure out a way to solve a gargantuan problem that had reared its head from out of nowhere.

CHAPTER FIVE

“We can't get a break for love or money,” Leon growled as he rode around the ranch with Clay in his side-by-side ATV. “Just when things was looking up a little, too.”

“Leon, it's time you come clean with me,” Clay more or less demanded. “How do you know Brick? And I don't mean as a bartender, either.”

“Guess his brother told you about everything, then,” Leon sighed a little.

“Boy, did he.”

“Well, boy, it's like this,” Leon sat back into the seat as they eased through the back pastures. Leon hadn't had a look at the place since they had acquired so much new land. “Man in my business sometimes has issues. Issues that has to be dealt with, one way or another. When I was younger I took care of it myself, to be honest. But that was some years back and . . . well, hell I can't take care of myself nowadays. Got to depend on a teenage girl just to get around. That ain't no criticism of her, mind,” he added quickly. “Don't know what I'd do without the girl if I'm honest, and I usually ain't. Only person ever took better care of me was your grandmother, may God bless her very existence.”

“Anyway, my line of work. Yeah. Man in my line of work sometimes needs someone in Brick's line of work. He had been overseas a spell and wanted to come home, and I had a particular job I needed done real careful like. Led to another and then still another. He was working for other people too, for a while anyway, but he mainly hung around with me. Not here, of course. Your father would have had apoplexy at even the thought,” he snorted and Clay had to grin despite the situation.

“Anyway, Lainie ran away and Marla called me. I didn't know the son-of-a-bitch was . . . was . . . I didn't know or I'd have already killed him. He managed to find her after she was living at the club, but I had put Brick there to watch over her. He needed a break, too, and that was a good job for him. Brick intercepted him just fine, but I was pissed that the bastard was still trying to get at her, so I set Brick on him. I wanted him to hurt,” he looked balefully at his grandson. “Had I been a younger man I'd have done it myself and made it last, but like I said, my time had done come and gone. But Brick was in his prime and . . . her asshole stepdad . . . no, her bitch of a mother's boyfriend, yeah, he had connections. Cops, judge in the next county, dealers and bikers and shit. A real viper's nest.”

“And Brick cleaned it out?” Clay asked.

“Lock, stock and barrel,” Leon nodded firmly. “Played out over about six months or so. They was all crooks anyway, so no one really cared. A few died in 'accidents' that really looked like accidents, so nobody ever questioned those.”

“Even though the threat to Lainie was gone, or at least we thought so, I let Brick stay on to watch over her and keep the place straight. He was done and needed a place he could call home. To get out of that game. Worked out just fine.”

“Until yesterday,” Clay noted.

“No, it's still fine,” Leon shook his head. “Brick made the statement that one of 'em would have to go-”

“X said the same thing,” Clay interjected.

“Byron ain't the one going,” Leon said flatly. “I owe that man and I need him. I ain't able to do nothing about protecting this place and he can do enough for two. Plus I got Janice to think about now. It ain't no secret I ain't got much longer boy,” he said softly.

“Ah, don't say that,” Clay started but his grandfather cut him off.

“I ain't stupid, Clayton and I ain't never been one to see through rose colored glasses neither. You know as well as I do my days is numbered. When I'm gone, I'm leaving my house to you, but you have to let them stay there long as they want, even if it's permanent. All three of 'em has been a blessing to me, one way or another, even Marla and her damn mouthy ass, though not lately. I don't want them worrying about having a place to live.”

“They won't,” Clay promised. “I don't want either of them to leave. I just . . . I need to find a way to get them to at least get along. They don't have to be brothers again, or even friends, but if they'd just be civil-”

“Brick says they don't do 'civil',” Leon was shaking his head.

“X said as much,” Clay nodded. “Apparently tried to stab him the last time they were near each other.”

“Sounds like we got pretty much the same story from two different sources,” Leon grunted.

“Well, it seems based on that we got the truth, at least,” Clay shrugged. “Damn if I know what to do about it, though.”

“First thing is to keep them away from each other for now.”

***

Mattie Simmons wanted to go home. Or at least try to go home. After so long, to be so close and yet not moving was trying her patience.

Abby's mom, however, had suggested she see this woman, Beverly, and talk to her about her trip home. That it would help her process all she had been through. Mattie had been on the verge of refusing when Patricia noted that most of the people on the farm had spoken to her at one point or another. Including Abby and Samantha.

So, here she sat, facing a rather attractive black woman in her middle to late thirties. It wasn't an office, just a room in what they called Building One. It wasn't especially nice but it was clean and not uncomfortable.

“I thought this would give us some privacy,” Beverly told her. “Usually I'd do this in Building Two, but with so many people coming and going over there at the moment, we might never get a moment of peace.”

“This is fine,” Mattie nodded, fidgeting a bit. She didn't know this woman.

“I don't know anything about your circumstance that you didn't tell us at lunch yesterday,” Beverly started. “Patricia just said you might need someone to help you process things, as she calls it. First off, know that I'm not here to judge anything you did or didn't do. That's not my thing. What I do best is listen. Give you a chance to work out what may have happened to you, and then once you have, look for a way to help you through it. So long as the two of us are in this room and talking, my only concern is helping you. Nothing else matters, regardless. Nothing you say will go beyond these walls unless you tell it. Understand?”

“Yes ma'am,” Mattie nodded.

“Now, I understand that you are local to this area but were attending school in Memphis? And that you were at an away game in Houston or near there when the lights went out?”

“Yes ma'am.”

“Well, unless there is something from before you want to talk about first, how about we start with what happened when the grid went down? What happened to you when the lights went out?”

Mattie paused for a bit, pulling her thoughts together. Beverly stopped her.

“Don't plan on what to tell me, Mattie,” she instructed. “Just tell me what happened, as it happened. Take me through it from the beginning. You were at a game and the lights went out.”

After another brief pause, Mattie began to speak. Slowly, haltingly at first, but then faster as she slowly forgot about her worry and merely concentrated on making sure she covered it all. She wasn't even aware she was crying until Beverly handed her a tissue.

***

“What do you think all that was about yesterday?” Sam asked as she and Gordy rode, looking over the cattle in one of the several pastures. “With Brick, I mean.”

“No idea,” Gordy shook his head. “Obvious they knew each other.”

“That one, Xavier, I think he called Brick 'brother',” Sam noted. “In French. Something about his account. I couldn't get it all.”

“I didn't hear what he said, but I did see Brick's reaction,” Gordy nodded.

“Brick's reply sounded like German but I wasn't able to hear well enough to be sure. I don't know what could have happened between them but it was bad,” Sam mused.

“Almost certainly,” Gordy agreed. He used his foot to push a particularly aggressive cow away from his horse. He couldn't actually push the heavy animal so easily but she understood that he didn't want her crowding his horse and moved.

“What did you think of the new folks?” Sam asked.

“They seem interesting enough.” A non-committal shrug. “I mean, at first glance anyway.”

“Hard to get a read on so many people with so little information,” she nodded. “At least there were new military people in there. That has to help make us safer, doesn't it?”

“From a standpoint of adding trained and experienced people to defend this place, absolutely,” he agreed. “While we don't know any of them, Uncle Clay does, and the people he knew and trusted are the ones who chose who came along with them. I'm hoping that has to count for something. Trust wise, I mean.”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Gordy, what's happening between you and I?” she threw at him straight out of left field, catching him by surprise.

“Uh . . . ”

“How very articulate,” she teased as his face reddened at being caught out. “I am serious, though,” she added. “Are we going to be something to each other or aren't we?”

“I thought we already were, to be honest,” he answered quietly. “I mean . . . it seemed like it to me.”

“Is it because I was talking to your uncle before?” she asked softly.

“Is what because?” Gordy was confused. “What is it I'm doing wrong?”

“Gordy, it's not that you're doing anything wrong,” Sam sighed in exasperation. “But we aren't really doing anything at all, are we?”

“By anything you mean what, exactly?” Gordy asked. “I mean, it's kinda hard to ask you out to dinner and a movie nowadays, Sam. I spend every moment I can with you, regardless of what it's doing. There's no one I'd rather spend my time with. And . . . I mean let’s be honest. If things hadn't fallen apart like this, would you ever have gone out with me? Would we ever have gotten to know one another outside me being Abby's little brother? Come this fall, Lord willing I stayed healthy, I'd have been in Knoxville and you'd still be in Murfreesboro.” He paused and she waited.

“I'd love to take you out on a real date,” he said finally. “And I'm juvenile enough to think it would be the coolest thing ever to have everyone see you with me, on my arm. To have them see that you think I'm worth spending time with. You're one of the smartest, prettiest girls this town has produced in a long time, Sam,” he grinned at her and her blush felt like it started at her toes. “There's not a guy anywhere that wouldn't be overjoyed to have your attention in any kind of positive way.”

“Stupid,” she muttered, her face hot as she looked down at her saddle.

“But where can we go?” he went on, ignoring her muttering. “It's not always safe even here on the farm. And even if we could safely go somewhere, there's nowhere left to go. Nothing left to do. You bringing a picnic basket to my foxhole during the party was the closest we've come to anything remotely like that.”

“Then we’ll do that again,” she nodded firmly. “And we’ll figure out other stuff to do, too. The twins and some of the others get together at least once a week and play D&D or some other game. The older folks play Rook, checkers and all that. Do you know how to play Rook?” she asked him.

“In this family?” Gordy scoffed. “Of course I do.”

“Well, so do I,” she grinned, almost impishly. “So next time they get together to play, you and I will join them, and play as a team. And we’ll find other things. Whatever it is.”

“Okay,” Gordy nodded readily. “That sounds pretty awesome, actually,” he smiled brightly.

“I was just . . . I was worried that because I . . . your sister tried to get Clay and I together,” Sam's frustration was showing a bit as she struggled to say what she felt. “In her words, to see if we . . . she said it like she was doing both of us a favor,” she snorted delicately. “I don't . . . I didn't, date much. Guys my age were far too immature for my tastes, and that didn't improve when I got to college either. She thought that he would be different and so wanted, and I quote, 'to fix us up'. But I don't think . . . no, I know she had no idea what kind of person he was then. It would never have amounted to anything between us, Gordy. And I didn't, I mean I don't want that to be hanging between you and I.”

“Well, I am pretty immature on occasion,” Gordy reminded her.

“You play around sometimes,” Sam corrected him. “That isn't the same thing as being immature. I could never spend time with someone who had no sense of humor at all. Life is too short to spend grumpy,” she laughed lightly.

“So it is,” Gordy nodded. “What do you mean about what kind of person Clay is?” he asked. Sam sobered at that.

“Gordy, I will always be thankful to Clay for helping me escape from town,” Sam said softly. “I will always love the memory of John Barnes, a man I never even met, because he died getting me free, even if I wasn't who he was there for. All of you will always be special to me, you most of all for carrying me when I couldn't walk on my own,” her face was as red as a stop sign now, but she didn't quit.

“But like I told Abby, Clay and the others . . . they're dark people, Gordy. My exact words to her were that they had stared too long into the abyss and something stared back at them. I can't deal with that, Gordy. Especially not after what happened in town. I don't hold it against them or think less of them, but I can't deal with it. Not like that.”

“You know, I may end up like that too,” Gordy was quiet, not looking at her. “I mean I don't see them as being so bad as that myself anyway, but . . . well, the way things are now . . . Sam, you don't know what I will turn out like, either.”

“Abby said as much to me,” Sam nodded slowly. “But I will tell you the same thing I told her. If you encounter things that make you like them, you’ll do it while I'm already there. I’ll be there to help you, and I will learn to deal with it as we go. Not have it dumped on me all at once. And I will help you, Gordy,” she stressed firmly. “I won't abandon you just because the things you're forced to do to keep us safe darken your spirit or harden your heart. I'm not like that. If we're together, then we’ll be together. Period. Come what may. But I need to know if that's where we're headed. You don't have to make a decision now, but I at least want you to mphh-”

She was cut off abruptly as Gordy's mouth descended on hers. Caught by surprise, it was still less than a second before she was responding to him, her arms wrapping around his neck even as his circled her small waist. She squealed into the kiss as he lifted her from the saddle and deposited her in front of him, never once losing contact with her lips. Her horse wandered a few steps away and stopped, cropping at new grass while her rider was otherwise occupied. Gawain was barking furiously from the ground, not sure just what was happening but not caring for it.

Both ignored him.

The two finally had to separate, struggling for air. Gordy looked at Sam, her lips swollen slightly, and felt his chest seize just a little at how beautiful she looked in his eyes. For her part, Sam, blushing furiously, was finding it hard to breathe even after they had pulled apart, her chest heaving ever so slightly.

“If you’ll have me then yes, that's where we're headed,” Gordy said firmly. “I love you Samantha Walters. Have for a while now. Come what may.”

“I love you too, Gordy,” she lay her head against his chest. “Come what may.” She rode back to the barn just like that, Gawain barking behind them the entire way as her horse followed along without being led or told.

***

“How did it go?” Patricia asked when Beverly stepped into the clinic.

“We should take a walk,” Beverly said in way of answering, looking at the collection of people inside.

“Of course,” Patricia nodded. She told Kaitlin where she was going and then followed Beverly out of the clinic and then out of the building. It was a beautiful day, sunny but not too hot for comfort. The rare kind of days one got in Tennessee only a few times each year.

“That young woman has had a very hard time,” Beverly said without preamble. “She is suffering from a major guilt complex that, if left unchecked will eat her up from the inside out. There are very few ways to deal with that aside from letting it run its course, but it can be destructive and even debilitating. She spoke of wanting to go home,” she glanced at Patricia. “How likely is that?”

“I can't honestly say,” Patricia admitted. “Clay will have to decide if and when someone can take her, and even then there is simply no way of knowing what they will find when they get there.”

“She needs help to work through all this, but . . . I don't think she will want to wait here for that help, and trying to make her will just make things worse. I suspect she's already thinking of walking. This is a young woman who set out to walk here from Houston Texas after all.”

“She's got fire,” Patricia nodded. “I’ll try and ask Clay this afternoon what he's going to do about getting her home. For all we know there's no home to go back to. We’ll just have to see.”

“That seems to be the default setting a round here,” Beverly agreed. “Hurry up and wait.”

“Amen.”

***

“I was thinking about tomorrow if I can get a handle on the shit storm that got unleashed yesterday,” Clay informed Patricia an hour later. “Jake said she lives somewhere between Jordan and Peabody so we shouldn't need a large group to make the trip. My main concern is getting there and no one is left.”

“I worry about that too,” Patricia nodded. “She's been a through a rough time before your friends picked her up. Finding her parents gone . . . I don't know what that might do to her. She's strong, but everyone has a breaking point. That might well be hers.”

“Well, at least if they're not there she's got here to come back to,” Clay shrugged. “That's something anyway. Although I'm assuming that. If her parents aren't there is she going to stay with you guys?”

“I don't know,” she admitted. “Truth is we're getting pretty cozy. Unless Sam moved into Gordy's room, I don't know if there will be room for Mattie.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Clay held up a hand, a look of stunned amazement on his face. “Are you telling me you'd be all right with that?”

“Of course not,” Patricia snorted. “But you've seen them. How much longer do you think it will be?”

“Uh . . . probably not that long,” Clay was looking past her she saw, over her shoulder. Turning, she was treated to the sight of her son returning from checking the cattle with a petite blonde clinging to him, sitting before him on his own horse as hers followed behind. She didn't look at all distressed, either, and her horse was definitely not lame.

“Well, I knew it was coming,” she sighed in resignation. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, a house full of teenage hormones to further complicate things. Welcome to my life.”

“She's not a teenager,” Clay pointed out. “And Gordy is more mature than most guys his age, too.”

“Which in this case just makes it worse,” Patricia nodded. “Young adults are seldom willing to listen to advice of any kind, let alone about physical intimacy. Perfect,” she added in a mutter more to herself than her brother-in-law.

“Well, on that note I guess I’ll just be moving on,” Clay said carefully. There was no reason for him to bear the brunt of-

“You could talk to him about this, couldn't you?” Patricia asked before he made three steps. “You're closer to his age. Explain to him how this is a bad idea and that he should wait for things to settle at least a little.”

“Uh, you do remember that I am currently living in sin with my own girlfriend, I trust?” Clay pointed out. “I find it highly unlikely that he’ll be inclined to listen to any argument I could possibly make. And you sound like you aren't happy with this at all. All I heard when Abby was trying to fix us up was what a good girl she was and what a good family she was from. Do you not like Sam? Is there a reason he shouldn't be with her?”

“None I'm aware of,” Patricia shook her head. “I'm not opposed to it in principle, Clay. She's a wonderful girl, smart, kind, well mannered and pretty as a picture. She's a little older than he is but that doesn't really matter, especially now. Except that he is only seventeen and . . . well, I'd prefer he be just a bit more mature before taking that step.”

“Well, I can understand that,” Clay agreed. “But age isn't going to shut down anything these days, that's for sure. Zach and Vicki hooked up at some point and are sharing his cabin on the hill now.”

“Zach is nineteen, too,” Patricia countered. “Two years of mental and physical maturity, and two of the more formative years at that.” She turned to study her son and potential daughter-in-law again. She did not miss how Samantha clung to her son like a second skin.

“And even if he's willing to wait, I don't think she is. How much willpower did you have at seventeen?”

“I was in the Army at seventeen,” Clay reminded her. “Willpower wasn't welcome and if you had any they beat it out of you.”

“When you were his age, had a girl her age with her looks looked at you like she looks at him, could you have resisted?” she demanded.

“I wouldn't have tried,” he admitted.

“Exactly.”

***

“I want your word, X, and I mean your solemn promise mind you, that you aren't going to try and do something to your . . . brother, at least for the time being. We got too much other shit to concentrate on at the moment and you know it.”

Shane and Xavier were in one of the motor homes that had made the trip east with them, allowing them some privacy as well as a little comfort.

“Sorry, Rat,” X shook his head. “I won't lie to you. And if I gave you that promise it would be a flat out lie.”

“Can you not see how unfair this is to the rest of us?” Shane demanded.

“Fairness to you is not my concern, Shane,” Xavier replied calmly. “It never has been.”

“Are you telling me everything we've been through together was a lie?” Shane's face reddened. “That we shouldn't have trusted you with our lives because you can't be bothered to give a shit about anything other than what you want?”

“If you honestly have to ask me that then I suppose it was,” Xavier shrugged easily, unmoved by the outburst. “I have never once let any of you down nor failed to do my duty. And you know that.”

“Then why can you not put this aside just for now? Just a truce until we're settled and on our feet? Don't forget we still need to deal with that chick you caught and the people she works for. Not to mention taking Tall Girl the rest of the way home.” It had been an almost automatic nickname for Mattie Simmons.

“As far as I am concerned, he killed my mother,” Xavier looked at him calmly. Too calmly. “Odd as it may seem to you, I actually loved my mother. Unlike everyone else, she didn't judge me harshly because of my . . . issues. She not only accepted them, but loved me in spite of them. Even one such as I knows the value of that. And Byron took that from me, Shane. So no. There can be no truce between us, no matter how much it would help everyone else. I offered to leave, and still will. The one promise I will give you is not to return and attack him here if I am the one to go. But if he steps one foot off this farm he is fair game. That is the best I have to offer you.”

“Have you ever actually tried talking to your brother about this shit?” Shane asked him.

“What do you mean?” Xavier seemed genuinely confused.

“I mean have you thought about just . . . asking him what happened and why he chose the road he did?” Shane clarified. “There may have been a reason, an unselfish reason, that he chose to stay away after what he did. Protecting the rest of you comes to mind.”

“You're actually trying to insinuate that he felt anything for the rest of us,” Xavier scoffed. “Something he is utterly incapable of doing, I assure you.”

“Just like you are?” Shane barely managed not to snarl. “You ever think that maybe, just maybe mind you, that Byron loved your mother, his mother, just as much as you did? And that because he did, he decided to stay away rather than bring his problems to her doorstep? Hell of a way to thank a loving mother, man, bringing that kind of crap right to her door just so you can go home again.”

Xavier blinked.

“Never thought of that, did you?” Shane's voice was biting. “Maybe you need to quit making assumptions and find out if you're right or not. You've spent years hating someone who should be your biggest supporter. Hell, for all you know he is. I noticed he didn't stay and antagonize you at the lunch, now did he? Didn't tear into you, either. You said yourself that the last time you were in arm’s reach you stabbed him. I didn't see him trying to get even. And he was heeled, in case you didn't see. Had an automatic in his waistband and two knives that I could see. Not to mention he is absolutely hooked up with the Old Man, which means he could have done just that and expected not to face any retaliation. So how about you pull your head out of your ass and maybe talk to your brother? Even with a go between. Because this horse shit is hard on the rest of us and we don't fucking deserve it!”

Before Xavier could frame a reply, Shane had stormed out of the motor home and stalked away, his anger obvious enough he was practically leaving smoke trails behind him.

***

Clay, Mitchell Nolan and Vicki Tully visited their 'guest' that afternoon. This time she didn't refuse the baby bottle but instead took the nipple in her mouth and suckled at it greedily, ignoring the laughter from the other woman and the chuckles from the men. Let them laugh for now. She would survive.

“We're gonna have to hose her down,” Clay said to the other two. “Suggestions?”

“Take her to the creek,” Vicki suggested. “You’ll have to burn those clothes anyway. Easier to do it there. Use that pump and hose her down.” She leaned into him then and whispered in his ear; “you can always chain her to a tree or something. Unless she gnaws off her arm, she won't get away.”

“You're mean, you know that?” Clay grinned at her.

“She doesn't deserve any better,” the stocky little trooper shrugged. “You can bet she's done a lot worse to other women.”

“I told you I never had anything to do with that,” their prisoner rasped out at that, having finished with the baby bottle.

“So you admit you've taken women captive then,” Vicki said.

“I told you last night we had,” the woman groaned. “Please,” she added. “I . . . I can't feel my hands anymore.”

Clay frowned at that. He whispered to Vicki, who nodded and ran off to get what he asked for as Mitchell Nolan rose to stand back from the woman on the ground. She was getting ripe.

“What are we doing?” he asked.

“She needs to stretch her legs and arms,” Clay said. “And she needs a bath. But we don't know what training she might have had, so we're gonna do this carefully.”

***

Emily Shirley felt her arms and legs simply let go as her restraints were cut. Nearly three days of being bound in a painful arch had left her with unfeeling limbs and aching joints. It was comical that she was being held at gunpoint, considering she couldn't get to her feet or even find her feet for the first five minutes she lay flat on the ground. As she lay there she felt a loop slide over her head and tighten around her neck, followed closely by a second one. Raising her head to see what was happening, she saw two people, one man and one woman, standing to her left and right respectively, holding long poles with ropes attached. Those ropes ended in the loops now snug around her neck, leaving her captors in complete control of her movements and with no way to break away.

“Get up,” the woman ordered. “Time for you to get a bath and a change of scenery.”

Believing this would be her chance to see more of the operation run by her captors, she immediately tried to get to her feet but failed. It took another five attempts before she managed to stagger upright. Without a word her two keepers starting her moving, walking her down the side of the bus toward the showers.

Only they weren't.

When she emerged from the vehicle park, all she could see was grass. Any attempt at turning her head was countered by a tightening noose, denying her any opportunity to see more of their operation. Instead of heading inside to a shower, they started walking away from anywhere, heading straight out into the pasture. A momentary surge of fear ran through her at the thought they were marching her off somewhere remote to kill her, but no; they wanted information from her. So long as she held out, they wouldn't kill her.

Probably.

Emily didn't know how far they walked, or how long it took. The walk was hard on her due to having been immobile for so long, but at least it was exercise and she was beginning to get the feeling back in her legs. At long last she saw a creek ahead that seemed to run as far as the eye could see in both directions. They walked her right to the edge and stopped.

“All right Belle Starr, strip those nasty ass clothes off and pile them up here behind you,” the woman ordered.

“What?” Emily tried to look the woman's way but was stopped short.

“You heard me!” the woman snapped. “Strip!”

“No!” Emily refused at once. “I won't do it!”

“Take her back and put her like you found her,” a man's voice from behind her ordered. “We’ll give her another chance tomorrow or the next day.”

“No, wait!” Emily reversed course. “Please don't! I . . . please, not in front of them,” she tried to talk to the woman.

“How many women prisoners did you help take that were forced to do more than just strip down and take a bath for the men in your outfit?” the woman's reply was flat and cold. Emily didn't reply but her red face was answer enough.

“What I thought. Now you either start stripping out of those clothes or back you go. Last chance.”

Biting back a sob, Emily began to strip off her soiled and ruined clothing. She had been held for three days without being given a chance to use the bathroom, or even just to toilet in the woods, so to speak. She stank and was chafing all over. Her wrists and ankles were raw, her knees and shoulders were strained to the breaking point, and she was broken. This was the last straw as it forced home to fact that she was indeed in dire straits. No one knew where she was, and depending on the wrecks, assuming anyone found them or even bothered looking, they might think she burned up or crawled away to die.

She was alone.

She went as slow as she dared, hoping for some kind of reprieve even though she knew it wasn't coming. Once more she thought back to how she and the other women in the group had treated female captives. They had called them 'prisoners' in an effort to make it seem less evil, but now she found herself in their shoes and could experience at least some of their terror herself.

Finally naked, she stood shivering, covered in her own filth, trying to cover herself with her hands to preserve her modesty.

“Relax,” the woman ordered. “No one here is interested in your charms. This is strictly business. Your ass needs a bath. Climb down into the creek.”

Without a word, Emily stepped down and into the freezing water. She shouted, or would have if her voice hadn't still been hoarse. Instead it came out as a pitiful cry that sounded somewhat like a kitten crying for milk, just on a louder scale.

“There's soap and a rag down there already,” the woman told her. “Clean yourself up and don't take all day about it either.”

“Can you take these off?” Emily asked, touching the nooses around her neck.

“Sure,” the woman smiled. “Come on back out and we’ll put you back where we found you. Just like we found you. No problem.”

With a choked off sob, Emily took the rag and soap and started cleaning three days of waste off her body, trying to ignore both her aches and pains as well as the freezing water.

***

“When she's done, we need to find somewhere to put her where she can't see what's happening,” Clay said softly, knowing their prisoner couldn't hear over the rushing water. “I'm going to leave that to you guys. Just make sure she can't ‘cause trouble and she can't get away.”

“Got it Boss,” Vicki nodded. Nolan nodded as well. Clay pulled a small soda bottle from his pocket and poured the contents, kerosene, over the pile of clothing before dropping a match on them. The fire blazed up at once, burning the ruined clothing nicely.

“What will I wear!” the prisoner protested from the water.

“What do the women you keep captive wear?” Nolan asked. He didn't get a reply, just a red face, dropping to look at the water.

“What I thought,” the former commando nodded.

“I gotta get back,” Clay told them. “Need me, call me.”

CHAPTER SIX

William Shirley looked at the map behind his desk and frowned. There was a single push pin stuck in the map board on Interstate 65, perhaps fifty miles north of his compound, that denoted his niece's last known position. She had radioed in almost four days ago that she and her team were following what appeared to be a small but well supplied convoy of vehicles that had a minimum of security amounting to a Hummer and two armored cars. Her orders were to trail the convoy and find out their final destination so that the entire outfit could be mustered in to attack and take what promised to be a rich target.

She had not been heard from since. And that wasn't like her.

His decision to include her in his group's membership had not been without qualms, but she had met or even surpassed every requirement he had set for her. Since the solar event that had led them to activate their emergency program, she had been exemplary in her duty, even when she did not particularly care for whatever duty it was, carrying out every assignment given to her without fail. Her rise to patrol commander had not been due to his influence but rather to the trust that the command council had in her ability.

And now she had been missing, her entire patrol had been missing for four days. There was no way this was due to anything other than foul play. Obviously the convoy they had been tailing had been better protected than Emily had believed, or else they had met with trouble from a third source. Something or someone encountered after her final check in.

The group had already ordered all remaining patrols back to the compound, anticipating a raid in strength against whatever target Emily found them. The area to the north, particularly into Tennessee, had been a mystery to them since they had begun foraging for supplies. He grimaced at the very thought, acknowledging how badly their plan had fallen apart once activated.

One raiding force had disappeared after reporting a possible farm still in operation over the line into Tennessee. Twenty-eight men and women and two vehicles simply gone. Vanished as if into thin air. The loss of so much equipment had hurt, but scouts into the area had found no sign of their missing people or vehicles. To say it was frustrating was an understatement.

And now Emily's patrol had gone missing while heading north toward that same area. He had hoped to get a location on the farm that had somehow apparently taken out an entire platoon in total, but now he had instead lost two more vehicles and six more people. One of them his niece, who had been a real asset up to this point, another being the son of a full partner.

He had reluctantly dispatched another unit to follow her trail to her last known position, but that crew had returned with nothing to show for their trouble. No sign of Emily or her patrol. Not their bodies, not their wrecked vehicles, nothing. While it was possible that she had met her demise further north, as had the first group to go missing, there was no way for him to justify sending yet a third group further north and risking their loss as well. Sooner or later they would have to make that trip as resources near them ran completely out, but it would have to be done carefully and in force. Not as a knee jerk reaction to the loss of a family member, no matter how valuable. He heard the door behind him open and turned to see one of his subordinates enter his office.

“Sorry, sir,” the young man was shaking his head. “No response on the primary or emergency frequencies. It's possible they're experiencing equipment failure,” he offered.

“They would return if that was the case,” Shirley shook his head slowly. “Those are standing orders for all patrols.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but is it possible she would have risked it rather than lose the lead on the convoy she was following?” the young man asked. William considered that. Yes, his headstrong niece was capable of ignoring inconvenient orders if she decided it was necessary.

“I suppose it's a possibility,” he finally admitted. “But I don't think she would risk staying out of contact this long. Assuming this convoy made just twenty-five miles a day, that would put them . . . about here,” he circled a spot on the map in pencil. “That is well outside our area of operations for the moment, though we have plans to visit the area in the future. She should have turned around before then. And their fuel would be running low by then, as well.”

“Yes sir,” the young man nodded. “We’ll continue to try and reach them, sir. On the hour and half-hour.”

“Very well,” Shirley nodded in approval. “Any contact with them should be reported to me at once. Understand?”

“Absolutely sir,” the younger man snapped to attention before departing, leaving his 'commander' looking at the circle he had drawn on the map.

A circle that surrounded a small Tennessee town called 'Jordan'.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Clayton Sanders, I demand an answer and I demand it right now!”

Clay looked from his supper to see his mother, Malitha George and Marla Jones scowling at him. Of course while he was eating. It was the only time his mother seemed to want to make demands of him.

“You know, I stopped eating at your place to avoid this,” he sighed, rubbing his face as if trying to scrub away his fatigue.

“Don't try and change the subject!” Marla all but growled. “We want an answer!”

“Well, maybe if I knew what the question was?” his sarcasm was biting. Unlike him, with his supper getting cold in front of him.

“Why is there a woman chained to a tree out by the creek?” Angela demanded.

“Oh,” Clay realized then what this was about. “Well, to be honest, that doesn't concern you,” he said truthfully.

“Everything on this farm concerns me!” his mother almost shouted.

“It isn't your farm,” Clay reminded her softly. “It's mine. And while I don't know for sure, I suspect this is the same woman who was trailing Shane's group, intending to set them up for an attack by a larger outfit. The same outfit that attacked us with a machine gun a little while back. Her treatment is intended to isolate her and make her talk to us about their operation.” He paused, but couldn't help himself.

“And if it's not her, then you probably stumbled across a very inventive way that someone is spending their private time.” Oh, I'm going to hell. I'm so going to hell for that one.

“By chaining her to a tree and giving her a tow sack to wear instead of clothes?” Marla braced him, hands on her hips.

“Well, I didn't know she has a tow sack,” Clay admitted. “I figured they would leave her without clothes, but that works better in all honesty,” he said thoughtfully. “Again that's assuming you haven't just interfered in someone's idea of a mating ritual.” Just don't know when to quit, do you Clayton? And then you wonder why you have to put up with so much shit.

“You release her this instant!” Angela demanded. She had apparently either not heard his remarks or had chosen to ignore them and stay on point. Darn.

“No,” his reply was immediate and final. “This isn't your concern. Go back to you knitting and leave mine to me.” He turned his attention back to his food, though he knew it wouldn't end that easy.

“I demand-”

“You don't get to make demands!” he rose to his feet so quick that all three of them drew back. “You've made too many demands since this started and I've foolishly given in to them, allowing you to think you were in command. Well you're not. Neither of you. None of you. I'm the one who has to deal with all this shit, and you feel fine dumping it off on me, then want to come running to me and complain when you don't like how I get things done? Tough. Get over it. Now I'm sure you all three have something that needs doing, or at the very least something else to interfere with. I suggest you go and do it. And don't go near that woman while I'm thinking about it. She is an enemy, in case you didn't get that earlier. We have no idea what kind of training she may have had or how dangerous she may be. None of you need to get within her reach. If you do-”

“You’ll what?” Malitha George demanded.

“She may well kill you,” Clay corrected. “She has before. And her group has treated women they've captured far worse than we're treating her. And that came from her mouth, it's not a guess. We need to know who they are, where they are, and how strong they are and she's the only way we have of finding that out. Now if you three are quite finished, I have to find yet another place to try and eat in peace. And let me add that I am getting damn sick and tired of having my meal times, precious as they are, interrupted by screeching and scratching. This had better be the last time.”

With that he picked up his plate and cup and departed, leaving the three stunned women behind, staring in shock.

***

“Have ground watch keep an eye on the prisoner tonight,” Clay order Jose thirty minutes later. “Make sure the little old church lady brigade doesn't try to free her in the name of . . . whatever the hell they're mad about at the moment.”

“Man, you can't catch a break, can you?” Jose sounded sympathetic.

“Not lately,” Clay agreed. “I'm wondering how in the hell they knew about her anyway.”

“Clayton?” he heard his father's voice behind him and sighed in defeat.

“Never mind,” he said to Jose. “I think I just figured it out.”

***

“No,” Clay shook his head again, refusing his father's demands.

“We don't treat people like this, son,” Gordon told him sternly.

“I do,” Clay replied firmly. “I especially treat enemies like that, Dad. Just like they would us. In fact I doubt they'd treat any of us so well. She already admitted as much, earlier. They've taken women captive and treated them . . .  well, I’ll just leave it to your imagination, and you can bet it's worse than whatever you can dream up. She has information we need, and this is one way to get it out of her. Isolate her and trivialize her. Sooner or later she’ll talk.”

“So there is another way, then,” Gordon sounded as if he'd just won the argument.

“There's always another way,” Clay agreed, setting the trap.

“Then use it!” his father demanded.

“So you're telling me to let Xavier torture her until she tells us what we want to know?” Clay clarified calmly. “I’ll get right on that,” he nodded, getting to his feet and grabbing his radio.

“What?!” his father screeched almost as loud as his mother. “What do you mean 'torture'?”

“What part was unclear?” Clay asked solicitously. “I’ll start there.”

“You are not going to torture a woman on my farm!” Gordon shouted.

“She's not on your farm!” Clay shouted right back. “She's on mine! And you're the one who said take the other way, weren't you! So really, it's you doing it, not me, right?” He reached again for his radio. “This way will be quicker anyway,” he added, just for spite.

“Stop!” Gordon held out a hand, and Clay let his hand fall from his radio. He stood there waiting until his father spoke again.

“You're sure you need to know that badly?” Gordon asked, unable to meet his son's eyes.

“Not at all,” Clay was tired of this shit and decided to drive the point home. “We can just wait until whoever she was scouting for finds us and comes to kill us all and take everything we've got. Would you rather we do that instead of embarrassing her just a little bit to break her spirit and make her talk to us?”

“Couldn't you appeal to her humanity?” Gordon asked.

“Is that supposed to be funny?” Clay was stunned. “This is a woman who I just said has treated other women much harsher than we're treating her. Has killed no telling how many and taken whatever she wanted from their dead bodies. Was following Shane's group to find where he was going so she could set us all up for an attack. How much humanity do you think she has left, Dad?”

His father remained silent at that.

“Now I have had all this I intend to put up with,” Clay went on the offensive. “While I'm at it, I'm damned tired of Mom choosing to interrupt every meal time I have with some kind of screeching bullshit she just has to complain about and apparently can only complain about when I'm eating in peace! Which, by the way, I don't get to do that often in the first place. Today better be the last time it happens. I'm sick of it. You two can respect everyone else, then you can at least respect me that much, can't you.”

“Who says we don't respect you?” Gordon sounded angry.

“You do every time you treat me like shit and ignore everyone else,” Clay shot back. “You're almost worse than Mom is because you run hot and cold on me. At least I can always depend on her to be against me no matter what. You, though. You switch sides with the wind. I never know where you’ll stand or what side you’ll take. Someone has to make hard choices around here, and clearly you're not up to it. I'm sorry you're squeamish, but that is not my problem, it's yours! Deal with it. Preferably while not interrupting my supper if at all possible!”

***

“What's wrong, Cowboy?” Lainie asked, seeing the look on Clay's face as he stormed around.

“Nothing,” he grunted, not trusting himself to say more at the moment.

“Ah,” she nodded knowingly. “I see.”

“See what?”

“Someone, I suspect your parents, has been at you again,” she smiled slightly. “Let me guess; they're unhappy with the way you're trying to get information out of whatever her name is that was trailing the others on their way here.”

“How'd you get so smart?” Clay asked, smiling in spite of his foul temper.

“It's the people I hang around with,” she grinned, hugging him close. “I'm sorry,” she added, her fingers running through his hair.

“You didn't do anything.”

“I'm sorry you have to go through all this when all you're doing it trying to keep us safe,” she clarified. “It isn't right. It's not just unfair, it's wrong.”

“Apparently my lot in life,” Clay snorted. “So what have you been up to?”

“We're looking at the housing situation and how we can try to make everyone as comfortable as possible. Also we're hoping to spread out the people best suited to protecting us so that there's some around both ends of the farm. Right now it's just the boys and Vicki on the hill. And they all work at odd times so all of them are never there.”

“True,” Clay nodded. “Good idea. What else is going on while I'm being roasted?”

***

The next day was overcast but warmer, promising rain later on if Clay was any judge. Since his shout fest with his parents the day before he hadn't bothered to talk with them or he would ask their opinion on the weather. Since he honestly didn't think he could stomach talking to them at the moment, he decided to wing it.

“She needs one more day, but she's not going to take it,” Beverly Jackson was saying to him as he brought his attention back to her. “She's determined to head home and to walk if she has to. Today.” The 'she' in question was Mattie Simmons.

“Of course she is,” Clay muttered. “She wouldn't be from around here if she wasn't stubborn as a damn mule. Ever wonder why I threw all this away and ran off to join the Army?” he grinned bitterly.

“I did for a few days,” Beverly admitted. “Not any more.”

“I suppose I need to stop complaining and do something,” Clay shook his head. “Tell her to give me a couple hours. It will take that long for me to free up enough people to safely get her there.”

“Will do,” Beverly nodded.

***

“Yeah, I know sorta where she lives,” Gordy nodded. “Why?”

“She wants to go home,” Clay told his nephew. “Today. And means to go if she has to walk.”

“Not the best idea,” Gordy shook his head. “We got no idea what's left between here and there.”

“Feel free to talk to her, but expect to lose,” Clay told him. “She's told Beverly that she's going today, even if it means walking.”

“You want us to take her?” Zach asked. He was leaning on the table under a large oak tree, rifle resting on his knees.

“Not just you two, but yeah,” Clay nodded. “I’ll get at least one more person to go with you. You can take the Hummer. Be on the pad in one hour.”

“Got it.”

***

“Mattie, I really wish you'd give it one more day and talk to Beverly,” Abby tried once more.

“Abs, I appreciate it, I do, but I've been gone for a long time,” Mattie was shaking her head. “I've been this close for two days and waited. It's enough. It's easy walking distance after what I've done to get here. I’ll be fine.”

“Just remember that this place isn't what you remember,” Samantha warned. “Not anywhere. Peabody burned about half-way down not long after what happened.”

“I've seen plenty of places like that,” Mattie nodded, gathering her meager things. “I don't expect miracles. I just want to see my folks and be at home. That's all.” She hoisted the small pack on her shoulder. “Thanks for everything,” she told them, hugging each girl in turn. “I mean it. No way to thank you for that.”

“No problem,” Abby assured her. “Take care.”

“She's making a mistake,” Abby said softly as she and Sam watched Mattie walk away toward the waiting Hummer.

“Hers to make,” was all Sam said. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach that she couldn't place, but then she wasn't sure she wanted to, either.

***

“Shane and Xavier will go with you,” Clay told Gordy and Zach. “Shane is in command. Zach has the gun and Gordy will drive. There and back,” he added unnecessarily.

“Got it,” Gordy and Zach said in unison as they climbed aboard.

“Well, this is one way to ensure Byron and I don't meet again,” Xavier smirked.

“Don't really care if you meet again or not,” Clay told him truthfully. “If neither of you care enough about the people around you to put that shit aside, then both of you can go straight to hell and fry there. I picked you because you need to see a little of the surrounding area if you're going to be able to function as a scout. Don't want to go then say so and I’ll get someone else.”

Xavier blinked at that, caught off guard by Clay's callousness. He had meant his remark in a joking manner but obviously his sarcasm had either been too much, or else Clay wasn't amused.

“I don't mind going,” he shrugged. “I might find something interesting.”

“Just make sure the girl reaches home safely,” Clay warned.

“We did bring her all this way, you know. Don't worry Lieutenant,” Xavier smiled suddenly. “She doesn't have what I'm searching for.”

“What are you searching for?” Beverly asked, having come upon them while they were talking.

“Oh, a little of this and a bit of that,” Xavier's smile made her shiver and she didn't hide it.

“X, I will tell you only once to dial that shit down,” Clay almost whispered, and the smile left Xavier's face at once. He looked at Clay and nodded his understanding.

“Get going,” he ordered as Mattie Simmons arrived.

“Thank you for helping me,” she told Beverly. “I really do appreciate it.”

“I wish you would stay at least one more day, Mattie,” Beverly told her. “You need the security to decompress. I'm afraid you won't have that at home.”

“I’ll have to chance it,” Mattie shrugged. “I'm too close to home not to go after all I've been through to get here. I’ll be fine.” With that she clambered into the back of the Hummer. Everyone but Shane was already on board.

“We’ll be back,” Shane promised. “There and back.”

“There and back,” Clay nodded, turning to walk away before the Hummer ever moved. Beverly watched the vehicle out of sight before turning to Mitchell Nolan, who was behind her, arm around her protectively.

“That Xavier scares me,” she told him. “I mean really scares me.”

“He should,” Mitchell admitted. “He is beyond dangerous. Good friend to have and a short enemy. But I promise you don't have to be afraid of him,” he hugged her closer. “He's not a threat to you or anyone else here, outside his brother.”

“How do you know that?” she demanded, thinking this was some kind of 'macho' statement by her boyfriend.

“You know how scared you are of Xavier?” he asked her seriously.

“I just said that,” she huffed.

“I'm asking you if you can measure it,” he clarified.

“Very,” she admitted.

“That's how X feels about the Lieutenant.”

***

“So the Lieutenant is your uncle then?” Xavier asked of Gordy as they made their way toward Jordan.

“Yep,” Gordy nodded, never taking his eyes from the road.

“You must have already been here when he departed for the service.”

“I was,” Gordy nodded again. “He's about ten years older than me. Seven older than Abby.”

“That would be your sister, right?” Xavier clarified. “The one talking to Jody.”

“That's her,” Gordy nodded. “Zach, can you see anything on the highway?” he asked as they passed over Interstate 65.

“Nothing moving,” Zach called down. “You notice anything else?” he asked in return.

“Like what?” Gordy asked. Shane watched the byplay between the two with interest, saying nothing.

“No game,” Zach reported. “Nothing. No deer, not even a squirrel. And no dogs, either.”

“I can't say I'm surprised,” Gordy replied.

“Me neither man,” Zach agreed. “Just pointing it out. Nothing around but a few blooms, here and there. I'd say they literally moved on to greener pastures. What hasn't been eaten, anyway.”

Gordy carefully edged his way around Jordan, doing his best to avoid attention.

“We’ll take another way back so no one can get a bearing on us,” he told Shane and Xavier, both of whom nodded in approval.

“Mattie, I don't know exactly where you live so you’ll have to clue me in,” he said over his shoulder. “All I know is that your road is between here and Peabody.”

“Everything is burned over,” she said instead of replying directly.

“It was a big fire,” Gordy nodded. “Back before we even planted. Thousands of acres. Maybe tens of thousands, even. Were barely managed to save the ranch, working night and day to do it. We still lost some acreage and a stand of trees.”

“How did it get so big?” she wanted to know. “Why didn't . . . ” She trailed off as realization dawned.

“No one to fight it except in fits and starts,” Gordy replied. “We got lucky . . .  no, we didn't,” he amended. “Abby was smart enough to run and jerk the electronics off of her plow before the wave hit. Her and Jake managed to get it running again and she used it, along with Ronny's dozer and every tractor we own and every hand we could spare to create a break around the ranch. It was all we could since we couldn't actually fight it.  Hadn't been for Abs, we'd have probably lost everything.”

“I would have thought the Interstate would serve as a good firebreak,” Xavier noted.

“It was the wind,” Zach fielded that one. “Northwest wind blowing ten miles or better an hour and gusting higher for the whole time. Fire literally grew from about three thousand acres by Abby's estimate, up to six thousand overnight. And it just kept growing with all the dry fuel ahead of it.  Burning embers kept starting fires way ahead of the main blaze. It was a monster.”

“It was,” Gordy agreed. “I hope I never see anything like it again.”

“Hard to believe Abby used to do that shit for a living, man,” Zach added. “She's one cool cookie.”

“Ah, she's okay,” Gordy chuckled, drawing laughs from everyone but Mattie.

“Who was fighting the fire over here?” she asked, seeing entirely too much destruction for her peace of mind.

“I don't know,” Gordy admitted. “I know the emergency services had a few hours warning to secure their vehicles, so the fire department should have had vehicles, but without city water lines running, they'd be limited to what water they could carry. And I don't know how many trucks or firefighters were left.”

“Why didn't you help?” her voice as almost accusing.

“Maybe you missed the part where it was all hands on deck just to protect where we live,” Zach wasn't going to take that. “We worked for three days trying to prepare and even then had fires breaking out all over the ranch from falling embers and ash. We had all we could say grace over. And no one was coming to help us, now that I think on it.”

“It's Abby's job!” Mattie objected.

“Pretty sure she ain't been paid here recent,” Zach snorted. “Also reasonably sure that Forestry is out of business.”

“She still had the plow!”

“Which we managed to get running barely in time to help build a firebreak, and which broke down again before we were finished,” Gordy informed her. “We caught a break when the fire sort of just rolled over it and kept going instead of destroying it outright. Maybe Jake will be able to get it running again, but we don't have any spare parts of any kind for it. If something major is wrong, then that's it.”

“I can't believe you all just sat there and didn't try to help,” she muttered mulishly. Sullenly. Seeing so much destruction so near home was starting to wear on her already frayed nerves.

“Her hearing must be damaged, man,” Zach said to Gordy, contempt leaking into his voice. “She still missed the part where we worked damn near around the clock for three days, had all the children and most of the women set up to run in case we lost, lost the dozer, and spent the afternoon fighting spot fires everywhere.”

“Take it easy, now,” Shane said carefully, knowing he was the outsider here.

“No, he's right,” Gordy wasn't so obviously contemptuous, but his tone made it clear he was with Zach all the way. “You be mad all you want to, Mattie Simmons, but you find me one person who would let their home burn to save someone else's and then you can criticize us. I doubt you'd let your home burn to save ours, would you?”

“And it's not just us,” Zach reminded her. “We shelter a lot of people, including an orphanage full of little kids. And we're . . . you know what, never mind,” he cut himself short. “I don't owe you an explanation. Ain't got to justify a damn thing to you.” His tone wasn't cold, wasn't angry, wasn't anything. It was almost blank. That more than anything caught Xavier's attention.

“I need you to tell me where to turn,” Gordy reminded Mattie as she was still sulking in the rear seat.

“Woolsey Road,” she bit out, angry at both of them, mostly because they were right and she didn't want them to be. If her family home had burned, she wanted someone to blame and they were handy. It was irrational, but rationality was often the first victim of a crisis.

“Coming up on the left,” Zach said from his perch in the turret. “Looks clear.”

“Roger that,” Gordy replied easily.

Turning slowly onto the road, Gordy let the Hummer idle for a few seconds.

“Mattie, how far are we going?” he asked when she didn't offer. “Are we turning onto another road?”

“No,” was the bitten off reply. “Two miles down, on the left. Brick home with a green tin roof, and a shop with a matching roof behind.” Gordy increased his speed slightly but only slightly. He didn't know this road well, and didn't know what they'd run across. He wanted time to react, and to give Zach time to get a good look ahead.

There were signs of fire everywhere and Gordy had a sinking feeling they were heading for a literal dead end, but his job was to deliver Mattie Simmons to her home. He'd do that. If it was gone when they got there, then Shane could deal with it. He was in charge.

Five minutes later and his fears were confirmed.

“No,” he heard Mattie's whisper from behind him. “No!” she shouted the word, opening the door even with the Hummer still rolling.

“Damn,” Gordy muttered as he hit the brakes, slowing just in time to keep the girl from rolling onto the pavement. She went running up the drive as Gordy turned slowly into it, stopping as soon as he was out of the road.

“Well . . . shit,” Shane sighed, rubbing his face as he watched the woman they all called Tall Girl run toward . . . ruins. A stone chimney was all that remained of what had undoubtedly been a nice house, once. Just behind and to the side the charred remains of a large shop were also visible. Inside he could see the outline of a heavy truck, probably immobilized by the CME.

“You need to get her under control,” Xavier broke the silence as they watched Mattie run around in despair. “She is very likely to injure herself rampaging through the ruins in such a way.” While he hadn't called Shane by name, everyone knew who he was talking to.

“Zach, eyes on the road,” Shane called. “Gordy, cover from the front. X, on me.” He opened his door and exited, the others following suit as Zach swiveled the big gun around to watch the road behind them. Gordy perched on the front bumper, rifle at the ready, eyes moving constantly over their surroundings.

Shane and Xavier slowly approached an increasingly frantic Mattie Simmons. She was moving back and forth among the ruins as if expecting to find that once she did, it would all go away. Or perhaps just looking to see if anything at all remained after the fire. Maybe even a clue as to whether her family had survived and if so, where they went.

“Mattie,” Shane called her name, but she didn't appear to hear him. She continued to run among the ruins, her eyes not really seeing anything as panic hit her.

“Mattie,” Shane tried again. “Mattie!” he near shouted and this time she stopped short, turning to look at him.

“I . . . where . . . I can't find them,” she said suddenly. “They should be here.”

“Who, Mattie?” Shane asked her, moving to join her among the ruins.

“My parents!” she almost screeched. “Who do you think! I made it all this way . . . I walked hundreds of miles to get here! Why aren't they here?”

“Tall Girl, you don't really want them to be here,” Xavier said softly. “That would be bad. You want them to have escaped and be somewhere safe. Not here.”

“This is my home,” she was shaking her head. “This is where they should be.”

“Mattie, they couldn't stay here,” Shane tried next. “There's nothing left. No shelter from the elements, no food, maybe no water. They had to find another place. For their own survival. Do you have any other family?” he asked. “Somewhere nearby they could go to in an emergency like this? How about vehicles? How old were their vehicles? Would they have still worked after the pulse hit?”

“My dad's truck was an '95 Chevy,” Mattie said. “My mother's car was newer, an '09 model. And I can see what's left of his work truck over there,” she pointed to where the shop building had burned, a few beams all that remained.

“Too new,” Xavier noted quietly. “But not here. They were probably away when the wave hit. Maybe out to eat or something.”

“Could be,” Shane nodded. “Mattie, you can't stay here,” he said to the distraught young woman. “There's no shelter for you and nothing to eat. Nothing to work with. You need to come back with us.”

“This is my home,” she shook her head. “This is where I belong. This is where I spent so long trying to get to.”

“I really do understand,” Shane was nodding. “But this isn't home anymore, Mattie. It's gone and nothing we can do will change that. You can't live here. Not like this. You know you're welcome back at the Sanders' place.”

“The Sanders,” she almost spat the name. “This is your fault!” she screamed suddenly, looking at Gordy and Zach, both still with the Hummer. “You did this!”

“You know they didn't,” Xavier said calmly. “They had nothing to do with this and you are well aware of it.”

“They could have stopped it,” she almost snarled. “They stopped it from burning their precious farm, didn't they,” she stated rather than asked. “And then they quit. They just let the rest burn!”

“Mattie, that's enough,” Shane's voice hardened. “That's not what happened and you know it. Think how far we drove just to get here, and how much burned over territory we crossed. There was no way for them to stop what happened to your home and you know that!”

“They saved their place, didn't they?” Her voice was full of contempt. “Left the rest to die and burn, but saved themselves. And you want me to go back?” she turned to look at him.

“Yes, I do,” Shane nodded. “Because there's nowhere else to go. I asked before do you have any other family nearby. Do you?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Some of us aren't surrounded by family,” she looked again to the Hummer, to Gordy specifically this time, venom dripping from her words. “Not all of us have everything.”

“I've heard about enough of this shit,” Zach muttered from the turret and Gordy nodded but remained silent. This was Shane's show. His problem to deal with. Not Gordy's.

“Let him deal, man,” he called softly over his shoulder to Zach. “No reason for us to get involved in this.”

“If she don't go back . . . ” Zach let the statement trail away.

“Yeah.” Gordy's one word reply was enough. He knew what Zach was getting at. Someone with that much vitriol who knew their setup would be a threat.

Unaware of this development between the two teens, Shane was still talking to an increasingly angry and bitter Mattie Simmons.

“Mattie, you know as well as we do that the Sanders couldn't have stopped all this,” he waved his arm to encompass not just the Simmons place but everywhere around them. Everywhere you looked was burned over ground and trees with just a smattering of grass trying to grow back. Nothing else.

“They didn't even try, though, did they?” she shot back. “They already said they didn't!”

“That isn't actually what they said,” Xavier was running out of patience. “If you will recall, they said they had their hands full trying to save themselves. That is a far cry from saying they didn't try. You're twisting their words because you're angry. You have a right to be angry at the loss of your home, but not at the Sanders or anyone else at the farm. They had no obligation to you or anyone else, and no sane being would sacrifice their own home and livelihood to save someone else's. That may sound harsh but in reality it's simply a cold, hard fact. Asking someone to do so is ridiculous. You wouldn't do it and neither would anyone else.”

It was obvious that their words weren't getting through to her. At this point Mattie was driven by far more than just simple anger. The stress of being away from home to start with, and then being caught in a disaster even further away, the loss, fear and trauma she had endured during her journey to get here, all of it was taking its toll. She had managed to hold that stress and strain at bay for so long, but now . . . now, there was nothing left. Everything she had hoped for was either lying before her in ruins, or missing altogether. The goal, the dream that had allowed her to keep going, to bear that stress and strain, was now gone. The only thing holding her together had been the idea of getting home. Home to her parents and the familiar surroundings where she could feel . . . safe.

All gone now. The dam that had held her breakdown at bay was gone.

“What am I supposed to do now?” she asked the ground before her. She didn't seem to notice the tears on her cheeks as they fell. “I came all this way . . . went through all that. My God, I abandoned Cindy to get here! I left her behind when she got hurt and for what! FOR WHAT!” she screamed at the sky.

The gray overcast didn't reply.

“We should go,” Xavier told Shane softly. “We are a target like this. Mobility is life.”

“I know, X,” Shane sounded put upon. “Give her a minute, will you?”

“I am aware of her mental process, the shock of seeing all this,” Xavier would not be placated. “But there is no undoing the damage. And despite her newfound hatred of the Sanders, there is nowhere else for her to go. There is nothing salvageable in these ruins,” he swept the ground around them with his gaze, “ergo there is no reason to delay any longer. Move to live.”

“I said I know!” Shane was starting to feel the pressure too. He knew Xavier was right, but was reluctant to make Mattie move just yet. She needed some kind of closure and if five minutes of staring at ruins helped, then they'd give it to her.

Disgusted by Shane's indecision, Xavier moved back to the Hummer.

“What are we doing?” Gordy asked quietly.

“Nothing at all, apparently,” Xavier replied. “Despite the fact that remaining here is useless, here we remain. Sentiment appears to be the deciding factor at the moment, along with something called 'closure'. A notion that escapes me, quite honestly.”

“It's a weakness, that's what it is,” Zach said from the turret, drawing Xavier's attention. “Shit happens. Deal with it. Move on.”

“Quite so,” Xavier was liking this young man more by the minute.

“Let Shane deal,” Gordy said again. The truth was that Gordy was fighting to contain his own anger at Mattie Simmons' words. Intellectually he knew they were spoken in anger and grief, and likely didn't represent her true feelings. But the seed of doubt had been well and truly planted. If she had said it, then the idea had to be rolling around in her head somewhere. That would make her a potential enemy from now on, irregardless of what she might say by way of apology. He wouldn't be able to see her any other way, now. Not for a long time, and maybe not ever.

Atop everything else, she was friends with his sister, and more importantly his girlfriend. Perfect. He shook his head slowly as these revelations bounced around his head.

“What?” Xavier asked, noting Gordy's movement.

“Just wondering when my life got so frigging complicated,” Gordy replied truthfully.

“Got a girlfriend?” Xavier asked innocently.

“Yes,” Gordy was started by the question.

“There you have it,” Xavier stated firmly, punctuating it with a single nod.

“She's not the problem,” Gordy shook his head. “She's friends with this one, and so is my sister. That's the problem.”

“Ah, doubly cursed then,” Xavier sounded sympathetic. “Mother likes her as well?”

“I think so,” Gordy nodded. “Probably.”

“Well then,” Xavier smiled suddenly and clapped Gordy on the shoulder. “Your life has indeed become complicated in the last, oh, ten minutes or so, has it not?”

“Considering that she’ll probably end up staying with us, yes.”

“How . . . comfortable,” Xavier mused. “I suppose said girlfriend lives under that roof as well?”

“Yep,” Gordy popped the 'p' at the end of the word.

“Well my young friend, you seem to have hit the trifecta,” Xavier noted.

“I was just thinking that,” Gordy agreed. “Lucky me.”

“Indeed.”

***

“Mattie, I am truly sorry, but we have to go,” Shane said firmly. “We can't stay here, and neither can you. There's nothing here for you. You're more fortunate than most since you have a place to go that will welcome you. You need to get rid of that misplaced anger at the Sanders family and be thankful that they're there when you need them.”

“Like how they were here for my folks?” Mattie said bitterly.

“That's enough!” Shane's voice was sharper than he meant it to be, but it did serve to jerk her out of that petty bitterness.

“What obligation does the Sanders family owe yours?”

“What?”

“You heard me,” Shane said. “You keep talking about how the Sanders didn't do anything, but what obligation did they have to do anything at all? Because I can tell you; none. They didn't owe you, your family, your neighbors or anyone else anything at all. Blaming them for this is ridiculous and you're too smart not to know that and to see it for what it is; lashing out in anger because you can't do anything else. I can understand that, and sympathize with it, but enough is enough.

“Now. You're going to load up in that vehicle,” he pointed to the Hummer, “and return to the Sanders' ranch with us because that's the only thing you can do. And you're going to stop screaming at Gordy and Zach about it being their fault your home burned. You may or may not have noticed on the way here, but you aren't alone in that. A great many homes were destroyed, not just yours.”

Silence. Staring. No response.

“Mattie, did you hear what I said?” Shane took a step in her direction. In response she moved a step backward, away from him.

“Mattie, you have got to get hold of yourself,” Shane told her, becoming concerned now at the wild look in the young woman's eyes. The situation was spiraling out of control rather quickly.

“Mattie, I need you to talk to me,” he tried again.

Nothing.

“Mattie, dammit, talk to me!” Shane almost shouted but caught himself just in time. At least she flinched at the tone, he saw. That was better than nothing. He realized rather suddenly what might be wrong with her.

“Mattie, listen to me,” he said more gently. “You're going into shock. Do you understand? You have to try and calm yourself. I need you to come with me and get back to the farm where you can be treated. Doctor Thatcher will know what to do to help you. Mattie, are you listening? This is serious, girl. Shock isn't something to play around with. Come on,” he slowly held an arm out to her, urging her to come to him.

As slowly as molasses in the winter cold, Mattie began to react, moving toward him at a speed measured in inches rather than feet. Xavier, having heard Shane's pronouncement, retrieved a blanket from the rear of the Hummer and cautiously carried it to Shane as he waited for the young woman to respond. He took it gratefully and Xavier withdrew to avoid pressuring Mattie any further. Shane opened the blanket and held it up for Mattie to step into, which she slowly did, moving as if she were in a trance.

As soon as she was inside the blanket, Shane carefully wrapped it around her, pulling her close. In his embrace, Mattie finally fell apart, crashing hard emotionally as the floodgates opened completely at last. Everything she had endured, coupled with what she had found here, erupted from her in a scream of pure despair and pain, tears blinding her as she buried her head in Shane's neck and sobbed so hard she shuddered.

“Mattie, I need you to walk with me,” Shane said softly in her ear. “You don't have to look, just hold on to me and follow my lead, okay? Just walk with me. It's going to be okay, hear me? I know it doesn't look like it now, but you're going to be okay. That's it,” he encouraged as she took the first halting steps toward the Hummer. “That's good. Keep coming, just like that Mattie. We're headed back, okay? We can do this, kid. You and me, okay?”

Xavier ran to open the rear door, allowing Shane to slide Mattie inside without actually releasing her, then climb in behind her. Xavier closed the door for him and climbed into the passenger seat as Gordy slid behind the wheel once more. He was still angry, but it was dissipating in the wake of seeing Mattie fall completely apart.

Zach didn't seem to care one way or the other and instead concentrated on maintaining his vigil in the turret.

“Take us home,” Xavier ordered quietly. “Faster is better,” he added with a glance over his shoulder.

“On it,” Gordy nodded.

The return trip was quiet, save for the sound of Mattie Simmons breaking down.

CHAPTER EIGHT

With Mattie Simmons on her way, Clay had started back for Building Two when he encountered Vicki Tully and Sienna Newell on an ATV.

“I hear I got you in trouble, Boss,” Vicki said as she stopped next to him.

“I'm used to it,” Clay merely shrugged. “I take it she went quietly?”

“She's just about broken,” Vicki nodded. “She's lost all that fire that kept her cursing and spitting for three days. Right now she's wearing a tow sack with holes for her head and arms cut into it, and a chain locked around her neck with a padlock that is in turn padlocked to giant oak tree. Mitch said he was going to take her a blanket but I don't know if he did or not. We were about to ride out and see her.”

“Well don't let me stop you,” Clay grinned. “If she's ready to talk, come and get me. And don't underestimate her. We still don't know what kind of training she may have had.”

“We’ll mind it,” Vicki promised. She put the rig in gear and drove away, leaving Clay once again headed inside. As he walked inside, he paused at the radio room. He was surprised to see the young Chinese-American girl . . . Minnie? Missy? . . .

“Miss Long,” he settled for saying as the young goth turned to look at him. “Decided not to take the time off after all?” he smiled.

“I didn't do all that much on the way here,” she shrugged casually. “If I'm going to earn a place here, it's going to have to be somewhere like this. It's all I know how to do that's still applicable.”

“To be honest, that's fine,” Clay promised. “We've run the twins and their minions ragged. They all have other responsibilities but they all have to share this responsibility as well. As for skills, if you can help supervise children then you’ll have the chance for something else besides this. We told you we have the orphanage on the hill? The women who live there have to work somewhere on the farm at least three days a week. Miss Malitha George and Lila Webb both work there during the day so that two of them can come out and work on the farm. Miss Malitha has a very bad back and Lila is only fifteen and recently suffered a good deal of trauma. But she also has other responsibilities, so we could use you part time up there, too. Don't worry, Miss Long. I'm sure you’ll make yourself a spot here without any difficulty. There's always a place for someone with your skills and intelligence.”

“How do you know I'm intelligent?” she demanded.

“The twins did, indirectly,” Clay smiled. “They and JJ evaluated you based on what you said at the introduction. When they said they could find a place for you, that meant they had already decided that you had the intelligence to help them. And it's not just radio, either,” he held up a hand to stop her next comment. “The twins are in large part responsible for everything you see around you. They, JJ and Janice keep it straight. Keep our stores in order and keep our records. They know within a day or two of worth where practically everything on this farm is. Everything of importance at any rate. Don't tell me that's not something you'd be good at with your background in computer systems.”

“Got a working computer?” she snorted.

“Several of them, and more tablet’s,” Clay nodded. “I'm pretty sure Rat had at least one or two, so I'm sure you knew we'd probably have one.”

“Rat?” she looked confused for a second. “You mean Shane,” she caught up quick. “I'd forgotten they called him that.”

“What did you call him on the radio?” Clay asked, puzzled.

“I didn't,” she shook her head. “I monitored radio frequencies for him and kept a record of what we picked up. It wasn't much to be honest. Put it all on one sheet of notebook paper if not for the 'Church of the Worthy',” she made a derisive noise as she put up air quotes.

“Wait, you've heard the Reverend Nutworth?” Clay asked.

“Nutworth?” Millie frowned. “I thought his name was Boaz. The Utmost Worthy Boaz? Speaker and Teacher for the Uttermost Worthy, Eli Gideon Jardine?”

“Say who now?” Clay stammered, caught by surprise.

“The Uttermost Worthy-” she stopped as Clay held up a hand.

“Wait. There's no point in doing this twice. JJ?” he looked over her shoulder.

“Yes sir?”

“I need the twins and Janice down here ASAP. Also notify Pancho and have him report over here as well. Anyone else hear?” he asked Millie. “Or did you by chance record any of it?”

“No,” Millie shook her head. “Didn't have a way to. Sorry.”

“Don't be, just asking,” Clay assured her. “I need you to think about what all you know about this guy, and grab any paperwork you generated on him, and be back here in . . . twenty minutes work for you?”

“Sure.”

***

Emily Shirley knew despair. Intimately.

She was currently sitting at the base of what she thought was a large red oak. She wasn't sure. Not that it mattered. Whatever kind of tree it was, it was three times her own girth if not more, and she was secured to it by a chain large enough to hold a bull. Her hand unconsciously went to her throat, where the chain was padlocked snugly around her neck, not tight enough to restrict her breathing but more than enough to make it inescapable.

When her 'bath' was finished, she had been led to the tree and presented with a 'dress' made literally from a tow sack, holes having been cut in the scratchy material for her head and arms. Her ankles had been bound before they had released her from the noose poles holding her at length, allowing her to cover her shivering nakedness with the meager dress. Once it was on, the chain had been placed around her neck and her ankles released.

She had been left with a blanket, a roll of toilet paper and a promise that someone would return 'later'. Later had proven to be near dark, when she had been delivered a bottle of water and an MRE. Starving for food at this point she ripped the package open and devoured the contents, not even bothering with the heating tab inside. While not tasty, it was filling, and it convinced her stomach that her throat had in fact not been cut.

A night spent shivering under the blanket had given way to an overcast morning that threatened rain at some point. Worrying the she would get soaked, she set about testing the limits of her chain, trying to find potential cover in the smaller trees and brush around her. She made what she hoped was a satisfactory burrow that would hopefully give her at least some protection from the rain. She felt sure at this point that should she catch pneumonia or the flu, her captors would simply abandon her to die. She was under no illusion as to her fate. They would never allow her to go free, nor would they consent to allow her to be here permanently. That meant that as soon as they knew what they wanted to know, she was dead.

The sound of an approaching ATV broke her from her ruminations and she looked to see the side-by-side approaching with two women in it. She had seen both of them before, one the short, chubby one that had left her chained here the day before. She watched with trepidation as the ATV rolled to a stop beyond where the chain around her neck would reach. Always careful, this one.

“Well, looks like you've made yourself a little rabbit warren, huh?” the busy one said, climbing down and leaving her rifle and sidearm on the seat. The slender one took a post in front, rifle in hand.

“I had to do something,” Emily replied. “It looked like rain.”

“So it does,” the chubby one nodded, reaching into the bed of the small vehicle. She came to the very edge of the chain's limit and dropped a cheap poncho, another MRE and two more water bottles. Emily scrambled forward, hating herself for not showing more patience but afraid the items would be withdrawn if she didn't grab them immediately.

“Well, today's a busy day, so no one wants to talk to you,” she was told. “This should hold you until tomorrow. Have a pleasant afternoon.”

And with that the two women mounted up and drove away, not bothering to ask a single question or taunt her in any way.

That left her more afraid than if they had mistreated her in some way.

***

“Wonder what she's thinking,” Newell pondered as they made their way back.

“She's worried, right now,” Vicki replied. “She's concerned that we didn't bother her today like we have been. Wondering what we're up to. Changes like that worry people in her position.”

Vicki Tully had hit things off nicely with Sienna Newell and Kandi Ledford. While the military was not short on women in service, they weren't represented in all branches, either. Tully and Newell had both seen action more than once, and Ledford was Newell's longtime friend and roommate. With Thatcher's distant coldness to anyone she deemed 'beneath her', the three younger women had quite naturally gravitated together, drawn at first by shared experiences and now by the promise of real friendship.

“You feel bad for her?” Newell asked.

“Not in the slightest,” Vicki shook her head. “She'd do this and worse to us. Bet on it.”

“Yeah, that's the feeling I get, too. She made her bed.”

“Exactly. Bugs and all.”

***

“Guys, this is Millie, which you all probably know,” Clay was standing with her in front of a white board. “Guess who she heard on the radio during the trip here, and guess what she heard?”

“Who's in the Super Bowl this year?” Deuce said at once.

“Internet is coming back?” JJ smirked, knowing what was going on.

“New Gwen Stefani album?” Leanne had to join in.

“There's going to be a Super Bowl even after the lights went out?” Janice asked, confused. “Shouldn't we have higher priorities than that?”

“So much humor,” Clay shook his head as Jose laughed his ass off and even Millie looked amused. “No, she heard the Revered Nutworth. Apparently a lot better than we have been. Millie?” He moved aside to give her the floor.

“Uh . . . hi,” she almost stammered. “I'm, uh . . . Millie,” she added with an abbreviated wave.

“Hi Millie,” all four said together as if it were an AA meeting, drawing another exasperated sigh from Clay and more laughter from Jose. The corners of Millie's mouth actually twitched upward in the barest hint of an almost near smile. She knew they were trying to help her feel more at ease. While she would never admit it, she appreciated it.

“After I joined the convoy, I worked the radios for the rest of the trip,” she told them. “As I'm sure you've discovered, radio traffic is still at a minimum, and likely to stay that way I suppose. But one constant as we made our way here was someone who identified himself as the Utmost Worthy Samuel Boaz, the Speaker and Teacher for the Uttermost Worthy, Eli Gideon Jardine.”

“That can't be their real names,” the twins said at once. In unison.

“And here we go,” Jose muttered quietly.

“No idea, but it is the names they're using for their radio show,” Millie confirmed. “I suspect it isn't their real identities either. I mean, how cruel can parents be?”

“Well, they could be named for compass points,” Deuce said.

“Or colors,” Leanne agreed.

“Animals,” Deuce suggested.

“Space vehicles,” Leanne nodded.

“Stop it,” Clay ordered as Millie seemed to be reeling at the double team. “She just got here, you two. Give her a day or so to get accustomed to your . . . youness.”

“Harsh,” Deuce muttered.

“Uncalled for,” Leanne agreed.

“So I'm guessing you two share a brain as well as DNA?” Millie finally got back on track. “Does that mean if you're more than a few feet apart you shut down?”

Silence reigned in the room for about five seconds. After which howling laughter came from everyone except Janice.

“But . . . I've seen them separate before!”

***

“So this is basically some kind of end day cult, the way it sounds?” Jose mused.

“We pretty much had guessed that, but Millie's report, good job on the record keeping by the way,” Clay told the girl, “confirms it. And she adds something else, as well.”

“Structure,” the twins’ gaze were glassed over as they were far removed, clearly computing what they had been told.

“Mission statement,” JJ threw in.

“None of what he said is in the Bible,” Janice objected, not for the first time. “I mean, some of the phrasing is the same, but the message he's sending is completely warped from what the Bible actually teaches. What?” she asked as everyone looked at her closely.

“Read the bible once?” JJ asked, though kindly.

“Yes,” Janice nodded, taking no offense.

“Wait. What?” Millie was lost now.

“Janice is unique,” Clay tried to explain.

“Understatement,” the twins chimed.

“Janice is very unique,” he tried again.

“Better,” the Duo nodded firmly, still using most of their brain power for something else even as they reprimanded their uncle.

“She has an eidetic memory,” JJ provided helpfully at Millie's stunned expression. “That means-”

“I'm aware of what it means,” she nodded. “Never met anyone who had one. Ultra rare. So much so that science tries to prove it's a myth.”

“Oh, it can't be that rare or I couldn't do it,” Janice smiled brightly.

“As I was saying,” Clay cleared his throat, “she can recall anything she has ever read, apparently. Usually all you have to do is mention it and the information starts flowing.”

“That is absolutely freaking awesome,” Millie whispered almost reverently, impressed for the first time in she didn't honestly know how long.

“It's really not that big a deal,” Janice squirmed a bit under the other girl's stare.

“Are you kidding me?” Millie looked aghast. “I'd kill a random stranger to be able to have that ability!”

“Oh, you shouldn't do something like that!” Janice urged her, so very earnest that it hurt to hear it.

“It was a figure of speech,” Millie admitted. “I wouldn't kill a random stranger. I'd find one that had done something bad and kill them. Randomly.”

“I like this girl,” Jose told a groaning Clay as the discussion went off the rails once more.

It was like herding cats. Incredibly intelligent and yet somehow stupid cats.

***

“There is no alternative out there to this guy,” Millie finished. “None. There is simply nothing or no one else on the air other than brief snippets or people who are trying to look for others or communicate with people in their party, and so on. Just like you do here, or we did getting here. But messages like his? No. At no point between here and Texarkana, anyway. There is no counter to him or even a bad alternative.”

“I need you to get together and plot your trip here, at least from the first point where you heard this guy,” Clay ordered. “I want to see on the map where you heard his signal the strongest, where it was weakest, anything like that we can use to get an idea where he might be. We've already got trouble at our door with the group you encountered on the way here. We don't need some nutjob bringing a fake holy war to our doorstep if we can help it. Especially without some warning.”

“We can make a copy of the road maps and use them for annotation,” Leanne nodded. “We should be able to have something for you this afternoon, late.”

“Good deal,” Clay nodded. “Meanwhile-”

“Vehicle approaching,” Heath Kelly whispered through the radio. “Appears to be the Hummer returning.”

“Meanwhile I need to go to the pad, I guess,” Clay amended. “Good job, Millie,” he told the young woman. “You guys were right, she fits right in to your little circus,” he added to the twins.

“At this point our being right should not surprise you,” Leanne huffed.

“And your modesty is truly moving,” Jose added with a grin.

“It's not conceit if you're actually that good,” Deuce retorted, though with a grin.

“Welcome to the Brain Trust,” JJ offered a hand to Millie. “We've got cookies.”

“That sounds like I'm being seduced by the Dark Side,” Millie said hesitantly, taking the hand.

“We prefer 'absence of light side',” Deuce grinned. “You know; under the circumstances and all.”

***

Gordy stopped directly in front of Building Two, allowing Shane to emerge from the back seat with Mattie Simmons still wrapped in a blanket. While no longer sobbing uncontrollably, she was still crying and was obviously suffering from shock onset. Clay arrived just as Shane approached the door with Mattie.

“What happened?” he asked, holding the door open so they could enter.

“Talk to them,” Shane nodded toward the Hummer. “I've got to get her some kind of care.”

“Got it,” Clay hurried to get the clinic door. Shane nodded his thanks as he and Mattie disappeared inside. Clay walked outside to see Xavier on the pad, Zach clearing the MG and Gordy checking the Hummer over.

“So I take it the parents weren't home?” he asked.

“Whole place is burned to the ground,” Gordy told him without looking up. “Everything on that side of the Interstate is burned over.”

“No game, no nothing,” Zach agreed. He secured the gun, which would stay mounted, then covered it with a form fitting canvas cover. “It's a wasteland in places.”

“Her parents were nowhere to be seen and there was nothing to indicate they were even there when the event happened,” Gordy went on. “Both vehicles missing, but probably new enough to have been knocked out by the wave.”

“The damage was total as near as we could tell,” he concluded, sliding down the outside of the Hummer to land on the ground. “Not just there but the whole neighborhood, such as it was.”

“They both conveniently failed to mention that Miss Tall Girl places the blame for the loss of her childhood home squarely upon the shoulders of your family,” Xavier said mildly, a raised eyebrow the only sign of any emotional reaction. “Both handled it quite well despite some rather hateful rhetoric on her part.”

“Good,” Clay nodded, pleased. “I'm proud of you both,” he told the teens.

“I'm still mad,” Gordy told him, shaking his head. “Just because I didn't say or do anything doesn't mean I'm over it.”

“I'm not over it and don't plan to be,” Zach added. “But Gordy said let Shane deal, so that's what we did. It ain't like she's the only one who lost everything to a fire.”

“Speaking from experience?” Xavier asked.

“Yes,” was Zach's simple reply. “Need help getting the rig put away?” He asked Gordy, changing the subject.

“Sure,” Gordy nodded, mounting up again. “We’ll fuel it up first. C'mon.” When they were gone, Xavier turned to Clay.

“Most interesting young man, that Zachary,” he said calmly.

“He is that,” Clay admitted warily.

“He lost his family?” Xavier asked.

“All of them did,” Clay nodded. “Zach, Kade, Corey, Titus and Heath. Gone fishing when the wave hit, got back to town to find it in flames, their homes burned down and their families gone. They don't know if they're alive or not. We've looked, but nothing so far.”

“All of them,” Xavier mused. “No wonder he reacted so poorly. It's fortunate you found them.”

“For both sides,” Clay agreed. “We were in a bad way for manpower and all of them stepped up, Gordy included. We've trained them up to our standards and they've come through for us more than once. All of them were athletes so that helped, but they still worked hard. And they've all seen action multiple times. They're done well.”

“We have a young man that made the trip with us that you may want to add to their number,” Xavier told him. “Young Mister Montana is a very rugged individual and a very able shot, at least with a rifle. He is tough and stronger than he looks. Has good stamina and follows orders well. You may want to think about it.”

“Think he'd be interested?” Clay asked.

“I think he is always interested in room and board, yes,” Xavier replied.

“Orphan?” Clay asked, recognizing what Xavier meant.

“In every sense of the word,” Xavier confirmed.

***

“What's wrong?” Patricia looked up and saw Shane Golden walking Mattie Simmons into the clinic. She was wrapped in a blanket, shivering, her face pale and her brow sweaty.

“She's in shock I'm pretty sure,” Shane replied gently. He guided Mattie to the exam table and when she just stood there he lifted her off the floor and sat her carefully on the bed. Mattie never reacted.

“What triggered it?” Patricia asked even as Kaitlin Caudell began to check Mattie over, talking to her softly, soothingly.

“Her home is gone, burned to ash, and her parents are missing,” Shane whispered. “She had a bad few minutes and . . . look, she said some pretty bad stuff to your son and Zach about how you left her family and everyone on their side of the highway to burn. I'm sure your son and his friend are mad as hell and I don't blame them, but . . . it was after that when . . . when she just shut down. It wasn't that she wasn't listening to me, it was more that she couldn't hear me anymore. Know what I mean?”

“Yes,” Patricia nodded grimly. “Gordy is rather even tempered and I don't think Zachary even has a temper to speak of. If she angered the two of them then she must have really mouthed off.”

“She's grieving and the strain is catching up to her,” Shane defended Mattie slightly. “All that's kept her together was the hope of getting home. When she found it destroyed . . . it was like everything she went through and did was for nothing. I think all that came crashing down on her at once and she just . . .  switched off.”

“I'm not judging her,” Patricia assured him. “It will probably be better for me to allow Kait to do most of the work,” she looked back where Kaitlin had managed to get Mattie to lie down and had covered her with another blanket. “Seeing me might be a bad thing if she's blaming us for her family's misfortune. Not the first time that has happened,” she muttered darkly. “No matter how much we try to help, we pay for it in the end. Always.”

“Is it ever any different?” Shane asked her. “If you need me any more just give a shout. All we could do was try to keep her calm and wrapped up. Where we been . . .  something like this, you either recover or you die. I don't know what else to do for her until her brain starts processing again.”

“You did exactly the right thing,” Patricia assured him. “Keeping her calm and warm is about the best treatment available in the field. If we have to we can give her something but . . .  honestly it would be better if she could process it on her own. We’ll have to see.”

***

“Yeah,” Kurtis Montana nodded slowly. “I'd be willing to do that. Assuming I can,” he shrugged. “Doesn't sound too difficult. Can't be worse than hunting man eaters in high country.”

“Man eaters?” Clay didn't like the sound of that.

“Cougars, bears and such,” the younger man shrugged. “Fish and Wildlife use people like me sometimes to hunt down predators that are killing stock or that have killed people. Trap and relocate the stock eaters and kill the man eaters. Good bounty money sometimes. Good way to make extra money. Well, it was,” he shrugged again.

“How old are you, Kurtis?” Clay asked.

“No idea,” came the easy reply. “Got found on the doorstep of a church in Kurtis, Montana, about nineteen years ago. Where I got my name in case you missed it,” he grinned. “I'm probably twenty or twenty-one, but . . . got no way of knowing for sure. Don't have a birthday. When I was a kid they used the day I was found. Good as any I suppose.”

Clay truly didn't know what to say to that. What could he say? Nothing he had ever been through could compare to what this young man had lived with.

“When did you run away?” he asked carefully.

“Been on my own since I was fourteen, using the day they found me as a birthday,” Kurtis showed no surprise at Clay's question and didn't bother to deny it. “Foster care sucks, at least in Montana. Mostly just looking for free labor it seemed. I was tall for my age and could pass for eighteen so I started drifting. Most places out there have bunkhouses and provide meals as part of your salary. Good way to make ends meet. Hunting the predators was better paying but sporadic at times. Firefighting was seasonal and hit or miss, but it was hard work, too. Most that tried couldn't hack it. I had to work to get in because I didn't have any documents at all. I started when I was about seventeen, lying about my age to get in. I had three years of experience when the lights went out. Had just wrapped up the third, in fact.”

“Parachuting?” Clay asked.

“No, helicopters,” Kurtis shook his head. “My team was dropped by chopper. They don't have as many jumpers as you might think. Helicopters make it less needful, plus it eliminates the need for training to jump. Just fast rope into the bush and they lower your gear to you and . . . there you are.”

“I have done that, though not to fight brush fires,” Clay nodded. “Well, if you're game, then we’ll set up a time to start you through the training. If you want to do it full time, assuming you pass, then that's doable. Meanwhile, you said you could handle cattle?”

“Yes sir,” the younger man nodded. “I've rode many a mile working cattle. I can handle that or horses. Brought my own saddle, but I ain't got a horse.”

“We've got horses,” Clay assured him. “We've got saddles for now, but one day we're gonna have to find someone who can make new ones. I dread that time.”

“I can sorta make saddlery,” Kurtis offered carefully. “I learned from an old man where I was working for a big outfit outside Hamilton. It was big enough they had him on full time to take care of their gear and he kinda let me learn from him. Even got a few tools, but only a few. I could maybe take a stab at it if someone here could help me make the tools I need and maybe take an old saddle to tear apart for a pattern.”

“You're hired.”

CHAPTER NINE

“So most everything across the highway is burnt,” Leon sighed, sitting back in his chair.

“At least between here and where Mattie Simmons lived,” Clay nodded. “No idea how far back it goes to the north. We don't know where it crossed the highway or how far south it went before the rain got it put out.”

“Your friends didn't notice?” Leon asked him.

“With all the mess on the Interstate, I doubt it,” Clay shook his head. “They didn't mention seeing the burned over territory until they got to our exit. They did have other things on their mind of course,” he added. “Like being followed.”

“Yeah, that's true,” Leon mused. “Well, that's gonna put us in a worse bind than before, ain't it.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes sir, it is,” Clay agreed. “The group that our prisoner if part of is probably our greatest threat at the moment, known threat at least,” he amended. “I'm expecting her to break soon, so maybe we can get some useful information out of her.”

“Yeah, I got an earful about her from Marla and again from Malitha,” Leon smirked. “Didn't know they knew such words.”

“Yeah, well, I'm tired of their interference and told them so. Mom was with them. If all they want to do is cook and watch kids, that's what they should stick with.”

“Agreed,” Leon nodded. “Told 'em that. Amongst some other choice passages,” his smirk grew in size. “I figure no longer 'n I probably got left, they won't have enough time to get even.”

“I wish you'd stop saying shit like that,” Clay complained. “If something happens to you this place may fall apart, Old Man. You're the only one who is keeping things together at the moment.”

“Don't sell yourself short, boy,” Leon snorted. “You're doing a fine job. The fact that the Cackling Hen Brigade came to me is proof of that. They expected me to side with them and make you knuckle under. Since they hadn't managed to do it,” he added when Clay didn't seem to understand.

“So me standing up to them was all it took?”

“Pretty much,” Leon nodded. “I told you to get them used to you giving orders,” he reminded his grandson. “I've worked too hard to leave it be ruined by your father. That's no disrespect to him, but he just ain't got what it takes to make a hard call, son. He works hard and been good to Ange and all you kids, but . . . in this kind of life,” he shook his head slowly as he paused. “Well, let’s just say it's better if your father stays a farmer. That's all.”

Clay nodded silently in agreement.

***

“May I speak with you, Miss Jackson?”

Beverly looked up to see the one person she never wanted to see again standing right in front of her.

“What can I do for you, Mister Adair?” she forced herself to be neutral.

“I should like to avail myself of your services, perhaps,” Xavier almost looked uncomfortable, she thought to herself. She was sure she imagined it.

“In what way?” she all but demanded.

“It has been brought to my attention that I need to try and open a dialogue with that . . . with my brother,” he caught himself. “Even if it begins with an intermediary. That perhaps our issues are the result of misunderstandings and miscommunications and if so, then might be settled by clearing the air. However . . . ” he trailed off, clearing thinking of how to put it.

“You two can't trust yourselves to be in the same room with each other?” Beverly fought down a smirk.

“It could be problematic, yes,” Xavier agreed. “Our history is . . . unfortunate, for this kind of thing.”

“So why me?” she asked. “Why not use Clay for instance?”

“Clayton is busy, for one,” Xavier replied. “Which is not to insinuate that you do not have better ways of spending your time than to assist myself and my oafi . . . my brother,” he corrected himself again. “Secondly, he lacks the patience for this kind of thing, to be honest, as well as the objectivity. Additionally, assuming that it is the case that our . . . situation can be rectified, there are years of very bad relations that will need to be aired at some point, I suspect. It would be foolish to assume that he and I can do so without the aid of a professional.”

All good arguments, Beverly admitted. And well presented, too. She didn't know who these two really were or where they were from, but both had obviously received first rate educations.

“Very well,” Beverly nodded slowly. “I will try to assist you, so long as both of you are willing and cooperative. The first time I sense that isn't the case, then we're done, or at least I am.”

“That is completely agreeable,” Xavier nodded.

“And it will have to wait a few days,” she continued. “I will need time to help Mattie deal with her issues, which I'm sure you know about already.”

“Yes, and also quite agreeable,” he continued to nod. “She was in a bad way by the time we had returned her here. And I must warn you-,” He stopped at her upraised hand.

“No. Nothing. I’ll get it out of her, one way or another. Assuming she doesn't tell me, then you can share what you saw or heard. Don't give me any preconceptions.”

“Fair enough,” Xavier agreed. “I will await your convenience, then, Miss Jackson.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

***

“What happened with Mattie?” Abby demanded as soon as Gordy walked into the house.

“She lost her damn mind,” Gordy replied. “Oh, and it's your fault,” he added, cutting his sister off at the knees.

“What's my fault?” Abby was caught flatfooted.

“Mattie blames us, you in particular, for not abandoning our own homes to go save hers,” Gordy snorted. “The Webbs all over again. We help someone and then they blame us when things don't go their way when they strike out on their own.”

“What happened?” Sam asked quietly.

“When we crossed the highway there were obvious signs of the fire having made it over there. It got progressively worse as we skirted around Jordan to get to her road. She started mouthing even then about how we Sanders had owed it to the rest of humanity to let our place burn while we saved everyone else and their homes. The closer we got to her place the worse it got.

“When we got her home, the place was in ashes. Nothing left but ruins and no sign of her parents. She jumped out while the truck was still moving and ran to the house, I guess thinking that once she was on the ground it would look better, right? She ran around for a few minutes wondering why her parents weren't there and then when Shane told her she needed to come back with us, she hit the roof. First she screamed at me and Zach, saying it was our fault that her parents weren't there and the house was gone, then screamed at me in particular because I had family around me.

“Shane kept trying to talk to her and finally decided she was going into shock. He managed to get her back in the truck and we brought her stupid, ungrateful ass back here so she could be pampered and petted some more. And now you're all caught up.” With that Gordy went straight to his room and slammed the door behind him, obviously angry.

“Wow,” Abby didn't know what else to say. “I can't even remember the last time I saw him angry,” she told Sam. “He just . . . doesn't do it. He never really has. Whatever she said it must have hit a nerve.”

Sam merely nodded. She counted slowly to fifty before getting to her feet and heading for Gordy's room. She knocked softly on the door and when he acknowledged, she entered.

Gordy had stripped his gear off and was sitting at his desk, leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed.

“Hey,” Sam's voice was soft but carried easy enough.

“Hey yourself,” he grinned without opening his eyes.

“You okay?” she asked, walking to his side, unable to hide her concern.

“Peachy,” he nodded.

“Sounded mad,” she pointed out.

“Hell, I am mad,” Gordy replied, opening his eyes and looking up at her. “I'm sick and damn tired of hearing this kind of shit. No matter what we do, no matter how much we do, it's still the same old thing. Clay was right. We should have shut this place down the minute the sky lit up and just took care of ourselves.”

“That would have been bad for me,” Sam murmured.

“No,” he shook his head and encircled her with his arms, drawing her into his lap. “Abby would still have come after you and then we'd have come after her, and there's no way we would have left you. And I wasn't talking about that, anyway.”

“I know,” she leaned against him.

“Don't pay any attention to me, please,” he told her, kissing the top of her head lightly. “I'm just mad. And I shouldn't be. She's in the clinic now in shock. Didn't say a word on the way home that I heard. But some of the stuff she said . . . ”

“I know,” she placed an arm around his shoulders and then nuzzled his neck. “And you're kind to cut her some slack. Not everyone would.”

“I'm just so tired,” he admitted to her. “Tired of doing so much for people who don't appreciate it. Even my grandmother, always giving Clay hell even after all he's done since this started. She just won't stop. Granddad just enables her. Leon at least stands up to her.”

“And don't even get me started on John Webb,” he almost growled.

“Me either,” she nodded. “He's an ass. But he's been a lot better since Mitchell Nolan slapped him around.”

“I doubt it lasts,” Gordy snorted. “And it just makes me wonder who will be next to bitch and moan about the Sanders and how they owe the entire region something or other.”

“It won't be me,” she promised. “I got what I want from the Sanders,” she smiled at him.

“Did, huh?” he almost smiled back at her.

“Uh huh.”

***

After Sam had gone to see Gordy, Abby had wandered over to the clinic. While she had never been as close to Mattie Simmons as she was to Sam, Abby had still considered Mattie a friend. She was rethinking that now.

Abby didn't take offense to being blamed for the damage caused by a wildfire. It wouldn't be the first time and she had become accustomed to it. Blaming her family, however, was another thing altogether. Not to mention all the others who had worked so hard, several of whom were now dead.

She entered the clinic quietly, seeing her mother off to the side. Mattie was on the exam table furthest from the door, Kaitlin Caudell hovering over her. Patricia saw her and moved toward her at once.

“Maybe not the best time for you to be here, dear,” she said softly.

“So I heard,” Abby nodded. “How is she?”

“No change,” Patricia sighed. “There's not much we can do other than keep her hydrated and warm. She will have to come out of it herself. We're monitoring her blood pressure closely just in case, as shock can sometimes cause a stroke, but she's young and healthy so I don't think we need to worry about that. We do probably need to worry about her attitude, assuming it doesn't clear up when her condition improves.”

“I heard that too,” Abby nodded again. “Gordy is as mad as I think I've ever really seen him. And that's even with him apparently giving her the benefit of the doubt because he could see the distress she was in. I can't imagine what she said to him to get him that hot under the collar.”

“You mean other than blaming you and the rest of us for not dropping everything here and rushing to save her house instead?” Patricia raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That kind of thing is really getting old.”

“I agree, but I don't have the first clue how to prevent it,” her daughter replied. “I would have said that we can let Mattie stay with us, but all things considered, I don't think that's a good idea, anymore.”

“Nor do I,” Patricia replied at once. “After this she wasn't going to anyway. She can get a room here or try to find a place on the hill, but her welcome in my home is worn out after all this. And we should be talking about this later,” she added as Mattie stirred a bit.

“Okay,” Abby nodded. “I've got work to do anyway. See you later.” She stepped outside the clinic and ran right into Beverly Jackson. Abby froze for just a second before schooling her features.

“Ma'am,” she nodded in greeting.

“Checking on your friend?” Beverly sounded professional if not friendly.

“More on my mom, but yes,” Abby replied.

“Your mother?”

“Mattie-,” she started but stopped when Beverly raised a hand.

“Don't,” she was shaking her head. “Let me hear it from her, first, assuming she talks about it. It's better for my objectivity if I don't have it from another source before I talk to her. It allows me to listen without subconsciously checking her version against one I've already heard.”

“I actually never thought of that,” Abby admitted. “There's a lot to what you do, isn't there?”

“There can be, especially in cases like this,” Beverly agreed. “I wanted her to stay another day, but she wouldn't have it any other way but to go home today.”

“Well, she got it,” Abby sighed. “We warned her what to expect, Sam and I, but . . . I guess seeing is believing. In this case anyway.”

“Well, I need to see if she's speaking yet,” Beverly said. “It was nice to talk to you,” she smiled warmly and Abby thought she actually meant it.

“Thank you,” she smiled slightly. “You too.”

Maybe her mother was right. She usually was.

***

Things eased into a smoother road for a day or so as the new arrivals decompressed. They began to talk about their trip, about where they had come from, how they had managed to be part of the group to start with and many other things. Sharing what they knew and how they knew it, wondering aloud where they would fit in among the rest and on the farm in general.

There was one house on the hill remaining, a two bedroom loft, which was shared by Trudy Leighton and Gwen Paige in one room and Sienna Newell and Kandi Ledford in the other. While the two former Army officers were not a couple, they were longtime friends and accustomed to living together. They didn't mind sharing space and the small cabin was comfortable enough for no more possessions than they had remaining. A new, larger cabin, similar to the one that had been constructed for the orphanage, was started in the corner of the square opposite of the children's home. When finished it would provide a good deal more room for single inhabitants on the hill, primarily those who were part of the security forces. It had been christened “The Bunkhouse” before the first wall was in place.

The Thatchers were given two connecting rooms on the second floor of Building Two, making in essence a small efficiency apartment. That allowed the good doctor to be near the clinic and left her husband where he could be near the most likely work he would have as an equipment operator and possible farm hand. Moses Brown and Millie Long joined them in their own rooms, as did Stacey Pryor and Kevin Bodee.

Shane elected to stay in the motor home he had bought and Xavier decided to stay in the other that had been a joint purchase. Kurtis, after looking at the rooms on the second floor, had decided to stay on the converted school bus for the time being. While not a true motor home, it was just as comfortable as most places he had stayed and it would be quiet, something he valued a great deal.

Cliff Laramie was assigned the last room in Building Two while Virgil Wilcox, after some discussion, moved into the large house shared by Kade, Corey, Titus and Heath. With Zach having moved when the Webbs departed, there was plenty of room for the older man and the boys were glad to have the presence of another experienced soldier on the hill. When the Bunkhouse was finished, all of them would relocate, leaving their house empty. There would now eight trained and experienced fighters living in the small square of houses, making it much safer all around.

An extra day was allowed for everyone to get settled in and their belongings unpacked, such as they were. Some had nothing more than what they had been wearing or carrying when they joined the convoy. These were provided for out of stored clothing, shoes and other necessities that had been laid in for that very occasion. It wasn't as good as new, but compared to the alternative it was completely acceptable.

Wilcox and Newell were folded into the security forces, with Newell also becoming Jake Sidell's assistant in the garage. It turned out the slender woman was a much better mechanic than she had implied and soon she and Jake were under hoods and under vehicles, talking happily about all things mechanical. Clay was pleased to see his friend enjoying himself. Wilcox would join the labor force around the farm when not occupied with security duties.

Ledford would join the Brain Trust in keeping the inventory going, which would be a full time job for at least two weeks as the equipment and supplies brought by the convoy were folded into the farm's standing inventory. She would also be familiarizing herself again with weapons and equipment that she hadn't seen much of since she'd left Infantry School. Once she was comfortable, she would also take her place with the security section. She lacked experience, but her training was solid.

Gwen Paige and Trudy Leighton were assigned to the orphanage three days per week and Gwen would begin offering sewing services to those in need. Eventually she would begin making new clothing, but for now would do mending and alterations. Leighton, much to her disgruntlement, was assigned to kitchen duty on a regular basis as well as janitorial duties in the bathhouse. Her lack of usable skills left her the menial labor and while she despised it, knew that she had nothing else to offer.

Cliff Laramie and Kurtis Montana would be added to the farm's labor pool, Laramie full time and Montana when he wasn't training for security duty. Both had good knowledge to share, Laramie in equipment operation and Montana in his work with cattle and horses.

Shane and the rest would work full time in security, strengthening the safety of the farm by a large margin, and do other work as it was needed, where it was needed.

Which left the Thatchers.

***

“I knew it was too good to last,” Clay sighed as he neared Building Two. Three precious days of nearly no problems, aside from Mattie Simmons meltdown and the revelations about Xavier and Byron had spoiled him.

A call from his sister-in-law had fixed that.

He could hear arguing, or at least loud voices as soon as he entered the building. He looked into the radio room and saw Janice Hardy with her head down, reading and seemingly oblivious, while JJ strained to hear what was happening while trying to appear as if he wasn't straining to hear what was happening. He shot Clay a grin as the older man shook his head. Clay reached the clinic door and took a deep breath before opening it and stepping inside.

“-isn't really the place or time for this, Doctor,” Patricia was saying. “We have patients in here and listening to us have this discussion isn't a good way to inspire their confidence.”

“I am not concerned with their confidence,” Thatcher shot back. “They will accept the care we give them and that does not require confidence, merely acquiescence. Now that I am in charge-,”

“And just who put you in charge?” Clay asked, causing Thatcher to jump as she hadn't seen or heard him enter.

“I'm a doctor and this is a clinic,” she recovered quickly. “Of course I'm in charge.”

“No, you're not,” Clay told her. “And as Patricia said, this is a discussion to have outside this area. Please take it outside or else shut it down. And the Old Man is the one who placed Patricia in charge, so he would be the one to change it, not you.”

“Does he know anything about medicine?” Thatcher challenged.

“He paid for this place, so that really is his only requirement,” Clay smirked. While he himself had paid for most of it, that didn't really matter in the short term. “And trust is important around here, Doctor Thatcher. This isn't the Army, and patients don't have to just take your abuse the way soldiers do or did. Now I’ll say it once more; take this out of here. Now.”

The steel in his voice seemed to do the trick as Thatcher folded her flag and literally marched out of the clinic.

“And to think I was so glad to hear we had a doctor,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Me too,” Patricia agreed. She had been looking forward to not having the lion's share of the burden for medial care rest on her.

Clay walked outside to find a fuming Thatcher pacing back and forth.

“How dare you come into-” she began but he shut her down.

“Shut up, Doctor,” the words were flat and the tone cold. Caught by surprise, unused to being spoken to in such a way, her mouth snapped shut.

“Thank you,” Clay didn't smile. “This is unacceptable. Completely so. No one put you in charge of anything. I'm sure Patricia hoped to see you take over as she has carried this burden alone for well over six months. She lost a man with her hand literally massaging his heart in an effort to remove shrapnel from his chest, has treated multiple gunshot wounds and farm injuries, had to care for a small child who had a broken arm that had to be re-broken in order for her to set it, a woman with a severe head injury that may or may not ever wake up, two women who suffered from a massive gang rape as well as the deaths of their husbands and other family members, another victim of sexual assault from a different attack, and the list could continue but hopefully you get the point. Do not assume that you are somehow superior to her just by virtue of having a sheepskin that says something different from hers. While she may not be a physician, she is a Nurse Practitioner and got her degree from Vanderbilt University Medical School.”

Thatcher's face had started with surprise. Followed by indignation, then anger, then slowly dawning comprehension as Clay continued to recite the plethora of situations that had been faced before her arrival, and finally shock when she heard 'Vanderbilt'.

“She treated all of these either in the field, or in that small room, right there,” he pointed to the clinic door. “You will show her the proper respect, Doctor, or you can join the labor line. Failing that you can feel free to pack up your ambulance and open your own clinic. The one Patricia used to operate in Jordan is probably available, assuming it hasn't been destroyed. Clear?”

Thatcher didn't reply, still reeling from a dressing down the likes of which she hadn't received in a long time.

“Do you read me, Doctor Thatcher?” Clay took a step forward and lowered his voice. “Communication is important, here,” he added, his tone bordering on condescending.

“I hear you,” she nodded, her voice much more polite. “I wasn't aware that . . . I will apologize,” she decided on saying.

“An excellent idea, Doctor,” Clay offered a second opinion. “If you stow that attitude, you will find Patricia to be rather easy to get along with and work with. You would have found her glad to have you here and willing to have you take the lead in patient care I'm sure. Now, that probably won't be the case, given your callous attitude toward the patients under her care. Expect resistance now where before you would have had acceptance. While we are beyond thrilled to have an actual doctor available, don't think that means we’ll tolerate that kind of attitude or abuse. We won't. We've made it this far, we’ll keep on making it. It will be easier with your help, but with or without it, we’ll still keep going. Are we clear?”

“Clear,” Thatcher nodded.

“Then may I suggest that you try again to speak with Patricia, and do so out here, or better yet over a cup of coffee somewhere?”

***

Thatcher had just returned to the clinic with Clay to speak with Patricia when Mattie Simmons began having difficulty. One minute she was fine and the next she was trembling violently and trying to get up from her bed, fighting the tubes and lines attached to her.

“Her blood pressure is bottoming!” Kait called out from her side. “Ninety over sixty, respiration is thirty, shallow and labored, pulse is . . . one ten,” she finished.

“It's got to be psychological,” Patricia stayed calm, examining Mattie carefully. “She's experiencing something in her dream state and trying to wake up. We don't know if she's epileptic, do we,” she murmured to herself. “Clay!” she yelled, turning to the door and stopping as she saw him. “Oh. Clay, I need you to get hold of Abby and Sam for me. Find out if Mattie Simmons is epileptic. They might know.”

“On it,” Clay nodded, moving to the door and keying his radio. Thatcher moved to the table where Mattie was still shaking.

“Initial diagnosis?” she asked carefully.

“Acute Stress Reaction,” Patricia replied. “Did she exhibit any type of seizure behavior on the trip here?” she remembered that Thatcher had arrived on the same convoy after all.

“Not that I was made aware of,” Thatcher shook her head, moving the check Mattie's IV line. “Nor did she mention being epileptic. Has she been unresponsive since her return?”

“More or less,” Patricia nodded. “She walked in under her own power and we've managed to get her up to use the toilet and to bathe, but she hasn't spoken much at all. One word responses to questions has been about it. Not completely unresponsive but definitely not tracking.”

“Blood pressure is holding at ninety over sixty,” Kaitlin called out calmly. “Respiration is now down to twenty-four and her pulse has fallen to ninety-eight.” Mattie's eyes opened slowly and appeared to be unfocused. Her eyes moved slowly from top to bottom and then side to side, falling on Patricia.

“Mrs. Sanders?” she sounded puzzled. “What . . . how are you here?” she asked, trying to raise up.

“Hold it, Mattie,” Thatcher restrained her and Mattie turned to look at her.

“Doctor Thatcher? What happened? Where are we? Are we home?”

“Mattie, what is the last thing you remember?” Thatcher asked and Patricia let her take the lead. There was no way Thatcher didn't have more experience with this kind of thing than she did.

“The last thing?” Mattie appeared confused. “I don't . . . I don't . . . ” she trailed off, clearly trying to grasp at something. All three women could see when the memory returned as her face clouded and tears brimmed in her eyes.

“My folks . . . they're gone,” she wept. “My home, my parents . . . everything is gone.”

“Mattie, you don't know about your parents,” Patricia reminded her. “Shane said their cars were both gone. It's possible they're stranded, just like you were. For all we know they're making their way home the same way you did. Try to concentrate on that, okay?”

“I'm so tired,” the younger woman almost whispered. “I . . . it feels like I haven't slept in years,” she almost sobbed but caught it.

“Then go to sleep, Mattie,” Patricia soothed, rubbing her hair softly. “We're watching out for you, okay? You're safe here. Go to sleep and rest. We’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Sanders,” Mattie patted her arm carefully. “I really appreciate it . . . ” and she was gone. Sleeping.

“We call it delayed reaction stress,” Thatcher said quietly, still looking at Mattie. “That isn't an official diagnosis or affliction,” she added. “Just our name for it. It's something we've been seeing in soldiers returning from a difficult deployment who find things at home less than ideal. Instead of dealing with the stresses of combat as they happen, they have endured the stress and strain of that difficult deployment by concentrating on what is waiting at the end of it. Fixating on it would be more accurate. Usually going home to family, most often a significant other. Sometimes things have actually changed, and others it's simply not like they remember it, or hoped it would be. In some cases it's because their welcome wasn't all they had hoped for. There is no common denominator except that it is linked by the delayed stress reaction. Instead of it hitting them while they are in action, it strikes when something else triggers it.

“She's been through a great deal, some of it much worse than anything most of the rest of us went through to get here,” Thatcher informed them. “She's managed to get through all that concentrating on her goal; getting home. In her mind, once she got home, everything would be all right again. When it wasn't, that delayed or suppressed reaction to the stresses she was under came crashing down on her without warning, in her case sending her into Acute Stress Reaction or shock as we commonly call it.

“Her mind has been locked in on her stress and loss all this time, working to contain it and then process it. Sometimes it takes a while, and there's no set time frame. Every mind works at its own pace. Hers has finally worked through it. Now comes the hard part,” she looked up.

“She has to learn to live with it.”

CHAPTER TEN

Clay, Shane, Xavier and Vicki Tully walked toward their prisoner with slow, deliberate steps. Clay was going to have to make a decision about her, and today would be the day. She would help make the decision for him, as he gave her one chance to help herself. In Africa he would just dispose of her and be done, but here . . . he was trying to be more civilized, or so he told himself.

Of course, if I really was trying, would I have brought X along?

The woman saw them coming and sat up straighter, her face showing strain but also still a hint of defiance. She was preparing herself.

“So,” Clay said without preamble. “You going to tell us why you were following our convoy?”

No one had approached her this way so far. It had been convoluted and round-about. No more of that. Straight questions and consequences for no answers.

“We weren't following you,” was the automatic answer, though her facial expressions gave her away. “We were just using the road. Just like you.”

“Your radio traffic says different,” Clay replied. “You must be important to someone, or else somebody else in your little outfit was. They're expending a lot of resources looking for you.”

Again her facial reaction betrayed her even though she stayed silent.

“Look, I'm gonna be honest here,” Clay squatted down just out of her reach. “We're of different opinions about you. Sell you to people up north who are always looking for women, keep you here as a slave, or just kill you outright to eliminate the threat you might pose. So far you haven't given us any reason not to do one of those things. You want your life to improve, then I'd start talking. It really is that simple.”

***

Emily tried in vain not to react to the man's speech but . . . sell her? She had heard of that kind of thing happening to their north but hadn't seen any of it, nor had their group engaged in that, at least. Keeping her as a slave didn't really sound any better, considering the fate of the women kept at the compound. And killing her . . .

What to do? She didn't know where she was or how far from home she had been brought. Had no idea if her uncle had just written her off or not. She was alone and there was no one to depend on but herself. She would have to do something if she wanted to live.

It would mean betraying her uncle and the others, though, and that made her hesitate. She could always give them false information, but if they checked it and found it false, then what? She would be worse off than now because she'd no longer be able to trade information for her life since they would never trust her again.

Could she betray the people she had worked and lived alongside since the flare? What did she owe them in terms of allegiance. How many of them would sacrifice themselves to protect the rest?

***

“My name is Emily Shirley,” the woman spoke quietly. “I'm from Huntsville, Alabama.”

“And that means nothing to us,” the man before her said, studying her carefully. “You're obviously part of an organized group that preys on others. We want to know where they are, how many of them there are, how well equipped they are and what they consider their area of operations. We've seen plenty of action since all this started and would prefer to avoid any more. If they're far enough away from us not to be a bother, then fine. We aren't concerned with what they do elsewhere. But you were following us. Casing us for a hit. No, don't deny it, we've heard it on your radio frequencies as the others were talking. Talking about you, and about us. We may not be the brightest in the nation but we can put two and two together.”

“We're called the North Alabama People's Militia,” Emily felt her face burn as she gave them the ridiculous name. Laughter met her declaration, as she knew it would.

“Seriously?” one of the men still standing burst out.

“I told them time and again it was stupid,” she said without thinking. “No one listened.”

“Go on,” Clay urged. “Don't let us interrupt.”

“They live in a large compound that backs up against the Monte Sano State Park area. It's a large compound, similar to yours I guess,” she looked around her. “There were about three hundred and fifty people I guess, counting the few children. It's mostly single men and women and couples without children or with grown children. Mostly families. The founders recruit from inside their own families when they can. Since the flare, the number has risen since they started taking in people who could benefit the group in some way. I don't know the exact number now, but it would have to be around five hundred. We're never all there at the same time.”

“Out pillaging I should imagine,” Xavier sniffed in disdain. He was the man with the eyes she hated so very much. Just being near him gave her the creeps.

“The strong survive,” Emily found her courage, or what passed for it. “The weak fall into the dust. If they were strong enough we couldn't take what we need from them.”

“Beautiful communist sentiment,” he replied. “Well indoctrinated.”

“You aren't any different from us!” she shot back suddenly. “You think I don't know that you stole all that stuff?”

“We paid for all that stuff,” Shane corrected her. “It was ours. We were bringing it here to live. We didn't rob, rape nor pillage anyone for a damn thing in any of those trucks.”

That seemed to catch her up short.

“Surprised?” Clay smirked. “Not all of us are like you and your family,” he sneered at her. “We don't take from others, but we also don't let them take from us, either. You and your friends found that out the hard way, didn't you, though?”

“The strong survive,” she repeated, clinging to that mantra that had allowed her and so many others to justify the things they had done.

“I doubt she's worth anything else,” Xavier told Clay. “Tell me, Shirley; how many families have you helped end by 'surviving'? Eh?” His disdain made her angry.

“I did whatever I had to do!” she snapped.

“Kill children, old folks, take other women captive,” Vicki Tully spoke for the first time. “Now you've had a taste of what they go through, you still want to stick with the strong survive?” This was a very sore spot for her, having been such a victim herself.

Emily said nothing, but the look on her face said it for her; she was unrepentant of the things she had done. If she made her way back to her people she would undoubtedly do them again. All in the name of strength and survival, of course. The man squatting before her stood suddenly and looked at the man with the ugly eyes.

“Take her to the Interstate,” he ordered simply.

“No!” Emily shouted before she even thought. “Not him!”

“Why ever not me?” Xavier feigned hurt. “How have I offended you, eh? What err have I committed that has strained your delicate yet decidedly murderous sensibilities?”

“Use the unpainted six-wheel,” Clay told Shane, ignoring Xavier's taunting of the woman. “Don't take anyone who would object.”

“I know someone I would like along,” Xavier said as they left 'Emily's' hearing.

“Who?”

“Zachary,” Xavier replied. “The one who manned the gun on the way to take Miss Tall Girl home. Very interesting young man, Mister Zachary. I believe he would do nicely.”

“All right,” Clay sighed, missing the clearly alarmed shake of Vicki Tully's head. “He's always up for a road trip.”

“He's got ground watch right about now,” she tried to get them away from Zach. “Next four hours in fact.”

“Spell him and free him up,” Clay said absently.

“I'm on response for the next four hours, Boss,” she replied calmly. Her voice finally got through to him and Clay looked at her.

“You guys go ahead and start getting ready,” he told Shane and Xavier. “We need to have a word.”

“Roger that,” Shane nodded and the two made their way to where the vehicle they needed was stored.

“Okay, Vick. What is it?” Clay asked once they were gone.

“Don't let Zach go with them,” she asked without preamble. “Please,” she hated that she sounded like she was pleading, even though she was.

“Why not?” Clay asked.

“Don't tell me they're going to release her,” Vicki said in answer.

“No, they aren't,” Clay admitted. “We can't take the chance. You know that. She's not a woman prisoner, she's an enemy combatant. We can't keep her here and we can't risk her getting free. We don't have a choice, and she made her choice when she started raiding other people.”

“I got nothing against that and you know it,” she replied calmly. “But . . . ”

“Are you afraid Zach can't stomach it?” Clay asked with concern.

“Just the opposite,” she shook her head. “He can stomach it just fine. Too fine, if you catch my meaning. Being around . . . he doesn't need someone like Xavier Adair as a role model,” she finally blurted out.

Clay considered that in silence. He himself had noted a tendency in Zach to be less troubled by harsh decisions than most of the other boys. They all did what they had to do without hesitation, but none of them relished such things the way X would. Zach on the other hand . . .

“Are you saying he's more like Xavier than you're comfortable with?” he asked her, eyebrow raised slightly.

“Yes. No! I mean . . . yes,” she sighed in defeat, head down, feeling as if she had betrayed Zach somehow.

“Vicki, I've noticed Zach's behavior,” Clay assured her. “And he is nothing like X, I promise you.”

“How can you know that?” her head shot up in defiance.

“Zach exhibits some tendencies that are associated with being a highly functioning sociopath, Vicki,” Clay informed her. “Not all of them, but some. I admit that isn't good, but Xavier is a much different sort of animal entirely. I don't believe you have anything to worry about on that front. Zach probably won't get any better, but he shouldn't get any worse, either.” He paused for a minute, noting the absolute concern for Zach that Tully was demonstrating.

“Something you want to tell me, Vee?” he said softly. “If there is, it stays right here,” he motioned between the two of them.

“He . . . he's a good kid,” she said, sounding somewhat lame even to her own ears. “Good man. Just . . . I just . . . I don't want him mixed up with someone like Xavier. No offense to you, I know he's your friend.”

“I don't know if Xavier recognizes 'friends',” Clay admitted. “And I know that Zach does, which should be comforting to you. How deep are you two in?” he asked flat out.

“I don't know,” she sounded despondent. “He doesn't talk. Doesn't say shit for all that he talks all the time. It's like he fakes it.”

“He's trying to fit in,” Clay nodded. “He knows that he's not normal so he mimics what he sees around him, trying to fit in. I suspect, however, that he allows you to see the real Zach,” he smiled gently. “You are probably the only one who gets to see that.”

“Great,” she grunted.

“I thought that would make you happy,” Clay frowned.

“It did. It does,” she amended. “I just . . . I ask myself every day how I got where I am.”

“Welcome to the club,” Clay snorted. “I’ll send someone else,” he promised.

“Thanks,” Vicki replied earnestly. “And uh . . . if you don't . . . ”

“Not a word,” Clay promised. “To either of them. Just didn't work out.”

“Thank you,” she repeated.

“Sure thing.”

***

“I can't raise Zach on radio,” Clay told Corey. “He should be making the rounds on foot so see if you can run him down. He may need batteries or maybe his radio is off. Find him and get it fixed.”

“On it,” Corey nodded, climbing aboard a golf cart and heading off on his errand. His arm was almost healed and he was trying to get back to work.

“Gonna have to settle for someone else, brah,” Clay told Xavier. “Can't get hold of Zach. Thug will ride along with you. Head down a ways before-hand,” he added to Shane.

“Will do,” Shane nodded. 'Emily' was already loaded, bound hand and foot, bag over her head. She had been pleading non-stop since they had come to get her. Let her stay. She had offered everything from manual labor to sexual favors if they would just leave her right where she was. Xavier, knowing her distaste of him, had asked if that included him and she had fallen silent. Now she was lying in the floor of the passenger compartment, sobbing silently beneath the hood over her head.

“Make it quick,” Clay ordered. “And keep a close eye out. Some of her bunch may have come this far north looking for her if she's related to someone important enough.”

Shane nodded and the three mounted up and were on their way.

“Do I want to know?” Beverly asked from behind him.

“You know better than to ask by now,” Clay shrugged. “But no, I suspect you don't.”

“Is it justified?” she asked softly.

“Most definitely,” Clay's voice was firm. Unyielding.

“Well, I have work to do,” she said suddenly. “Have a good day.”

“Around here?” Clay snorted. “Thanks for the thought.”

That made her smile as she walked away.

“What a day and it ain't even lunch,” Clay sighed, shaking his head.

***

Emily Shirley had belonged to a group of people that had preyed on the weaker survivors as if it were their right to do so. Taking what they wanted from those around them and doing what they wanted with the people they found. The strong survive and the weak fall. It had been drilled into them for years before the flare, though no one had taken it seriously until civilization took a leap backward.

That attitude and their success against those less prepared or caught off guard had made them arrogant. That arrogance had made Emily Shirley careless. He team had died because of that carelessness, and now . . .

“Here's good,” Shane said, pulling to a halt. They were five miles south of their exit. It would be enough.

“If we hurry we can be back before lunch,” Mitchell Nolan noted, opening the rear door and jumping down to the asphalt below.

“On your feet, Bonnie,” Xavier ordered, cutting the flex straps around her ankles and pulling her to her feet. He jerked the hood from her head as it had served its purpose.

“Please,” she begged softly. “Please don't do this. I don't want to die. Please.”

“Out of curiosity, how many people begged you for mercy?” Mitchell asked.

“How many women did you ignore asking you for help?” Shane was next.

“Do have some pride,” Xavier told her. “Don't grovel.” He shoved her down the steps, where Mitchell and Shane caught her.

“I guess we can let her keep the sack?” Shane looked at the other two. Emily was beyond terrified at the casualness the three men were taking this.

“How can you do this?” she sobbed.

“Same way you did,” Shane shrugged.

“Let me put this in the language of your people,” Xavier's voice was soft in her ear. “You fucked up. You're a guppy, my dear, and you tried to swim with sharks. Do you know what guppies are good for? Hm?” The whispering voice was almost musical.

God, he was terrifying.

“Food,” the word was a mere whisper. Instincts took over and she bolted, running in the only open direction, away from the three of them.

“End it, X,” Shane ordered. “We ain't got time for this.”

“Are we on a schedule then?” he asked with disdain, raising his rifle. With calculated precision he tracked the running woman, triggering a three round burst into her back that stitched her from her hip to her shoulder. With brutal casualness he stalked to where the mortally wounded woman was trying to crawl, even with her hands bound. He drew his knife as he approached her, leaning down to lift her head by her hair.

“Just think, darling,” he whispered almost lovingly. “Had you stayed in the small pond, none of this would have come to pass. Do tell your friends we said hello, won't you?”

A single stroke of a razor sharp blade put an end to one Emily Shirley of the North Alabama People's Militia.

A guppy who tried to swim with sharks, and was eaten.

***

Clay was leaning against Building One when the Cougar returned. He watched as Xavier and Mitchell dismounted, Shane carrying the vehicle around to park it. As the noise of the Cougar's engine diminished he could hear snippets of a conversation.

“ . . . say it was wasteful,” Mitchell was saying. “Should have done that from the start and saved the rounds.”

“It's not like Africa, old son,” Xavier replied easily.

“No, it's worse in a way,” Mitchell shot back. “We won't see Shorty setting his bird down full of gear anymore.” He stopped as Xavier held out a hand, having caught sight of Clay.

“Lurking in the shadows, Bossman?” he asked with a smile.

“We call it shade here in the south, Yankee,” Clay grinned slyly, and Xavier burst out laughing.

“I assume you finished,” Clay stated rather than asked.

“We're back, no?” Xavier didn't bother looking offended.

“Enjoy your lunch.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Things began to settle into a semblance of rhythm over the next three days. New people were situated, unpacked, and rested, meandering around their new home and getting to know the people they would be living and working with from then on.

Everyone settled into a bit of a pattern and the new arrivals began to get work assignments and responsibilities given out to them as their abilities were reviewed. Security training for the first class had resumed with those from Shane's group being added to the planned second class, fleshing that class out into one of similar size.

Kurtis Montana was not added to the second class. Put through a test of his physical abilities as well as his marksmanship and firearm knowledge, he passed with flying colors. As a result he was being pushed through the same course Gordy and the other boys had been given, albeit full time rather than part time as they had done. Each of the commandos would take turns educating him on various skills and getting him ready to be part of the security team.

Millie Long had already established herself as part of the Brain Trust, (Clay snorted at himself as he realized he was capitalizing Brain Trust in his head), and was settled in fine, already worked in to the radio watch and read in on their operations. It might have been Clay's imagination, but it seemed as if Deuce was paying the Asian Goth girl a lot of attention, and not all of it was strictly in the sense of getting her 'settled in'. It could also have been his imagination that Millie, in turn, was exhibiting a sort of amused fondness for the youngest male of the Sanders clan, as opposed to her normal biting wit and occasionally scathing dry humor. Either way, she was already making herself useful.

Thatcher had apologized to Patricia and the two had sat down together over a quiet cup of coffee as Clay had suggested, hashing out an equitable and agreeable solution to how they would operate the clinic. The Army physician had shown Patricia the Stryker, and the supplies within it, much to Patricia's joy. Many of the holes she had found in their medical supplies were filled by Thatcher's bonanza. But even that gold mine of supplies was not bottomless.

Thatcher had examined Deborah Webb, reviewed the history of her treatment and lack of response as well as the circumstances of her injury, and reported that it was extremely unlikely that the woman would ever wake. Even in first rate trauma center, her diagnosis would be dark.

The choices were bleak. Continue to expend precious resources on her hoping for a miracle that was unlikely to occur, or let her go and be at peace. It was a terrible choice to make and no one wanted to consider it.

It was decided that the Webb children that remained would be gathered together to hear the doctor explain the situation to them, sans Patricia. It was hoped that the fact that a genuine doctor being the one to give them the news would prevent more trouble with the Webbs, particularly John Webb. He had been on his best behavior since his attitude adjustment at the hands of Mitchell Nolan, but the loss of his mother might well change that for the worse.

The decision would have to be made by the children themselves, but the bottom line was that their resources were finite. There had to be a stopping point and they were approaching it. Worse, they had made no plans to feed someone in her condition. Normally she would have been fitted with a stomach tube for feeding, but none was available, and they lacked the specialized liquid diet such treatments called for. They could substitute mineral and vitamin laced milk, but there was a limited supply of vitamins.

Everything was limited and once it was gone, that was it. There would be no more.

***

“What are you saying?” John Webb, typically, was the first to speak.

“I'm saying that I'm sorry, but your mother is not going to recover,” Doctor Thatcher was actually gentle in speaking to them and sounded sympathetic. “Her injury was very serious, and the level of care needed for that type of injury just isn't available any more. In her condition, there would not be much we could do even in a fully functioning trauma center. Your mother's problems go beyond merely her initial injury.”

“Her body is breaking down due to lack of nourishment. Normal sustaining treatment for this kind of injury would be to place a feeding tube in the stomach and then supply nutrition in the form of a specialty liquid that would help keep her nourished and her organs strong. We lack the tubing or the dietary needs she requires. While I might be able to jury rig a tube, the likelihood of her suffering an infection from it would be very high, something that would be fatal.”

“So you're saying she's starving?” Daisy asked, looking concerned.

“Essentially, yes,” Thatcher nodded. “They have done a remarkable job with keeping her hydrated despite a lack of supplies. It is a testament to the hard work of Patricia, Kaitlin and Tandi that Mrs. Webb has made it this long, but there is no denying that she is failing.” Thatcher picked up a clipboard.

“Her blood pressure has steadily risen in the last ten days to the point that a stroke could occur at literally any time. She has had a mild fever for the past three days and it continues to slowly rise, indicating she likely has an infection somewhere in her system. Her breathing has become more labored forcing her onto the ventilator to breathe and it's possible that her respiratory system has begun shutting down, which means it won't be carrying oxygen to her organs, including her heart and her brain. Her oxygen saturation, or the amount of oxygen in her blood stream, is already below eighty-five, which sounds high until you realize that lower than ninety-five usually means a regimen of medication such as breathing treatments to increase the level of oxygen in the blood. She won't benefit from a breathing treatment and we lack any other type of treatment or medication for her problems.”

“So what can you do?” Samuel asked.

“We can end her suffering,” Thatcher told them. “Right now she is being kept alive only by the ventilator. Note that the ventilator can't make her body carry oxygen to her brain or heart, or anywhere else. All it can do is force her to breathe, no matter how painful to her it is or how ineffectual it is to her condition.”

“Are you saying she's in pain?” Luke asked, pale.

“It's likely but we can't know that without her being able to tell us. I can tell you that the damage to her skull is not in the area of the brain's pain receptors. In other words, any pain she is in can still be felt even if she can't respond to it. Patricia has the capability to perform an EEG, which examines electric impulses commonly called brain waves. It's a basic test for this kind of injury as well as her comatose condition, meant mostly to show reaction and function. The test was negative outside the areas of the brain that we know regulate what's commonly called 'automatic functions', such as respiration and heartbeat. Such a test can't show us if your mother is in pain, nor where she might be hurting.” She paused for a moment before dropping the last bomb.

“Clinically, your mother is brain dead,” she finished softly. “I am so sorry to have to tell you that. Recovery from this is less than unlikely.”

“So she could be suffering right this minute,” Lila had tears on her cheeks.

“I am truly sorry, but that is a distinct possibility.”

“Why ain't them Sanders told us this already?” John demanded.

“Probably because of the attitude you're displaying right now,” Nate Caudell, who had been silent until that moment, replied. “Which is why I'm in here when I'm not medical personnel.”

“John, what have you done?” Samuel asked, frowning.

“Nothing,” John muttered.

“Don't lie, boy,” Luke growled. “You was supposed to be on your better behavior. If this man feels he needs to be here because of you, that tells me you ain't been.”

“The answer to your question is probably just as Mister Caudell has told you,” Thatcher tried to get things back on track. “This is a terrible decision to have to make and she has not forced it on you due to your circumstances and also because she felt it was a call she lacked the training and experience to make.”

“And you got it?” John demanded.

“Yes,” Thatcher said simply. “I do.”

“How?”

“I'm an Army trauma surgeon,” Thatcher's tone lowered a few degrees. “I deal with this kind of injury to soldiers on a regular basis, both on the battlefield and in the hospital when on base.”

That shut John down hard.

“I don't know what problems you have with the Sanders and frankly that isn't my business,” Thatcher's voice became brisk. “However, I cannot in good conscience, knowing the facts that I have in hand, ignore the fact that your mother's condition is not going to improve and is in fact going to deteriorate. And the worse it becomes the faster it will break down. I really don't want to get too descriptive of the process as it isn't pretty. There's no point in putting you through that. Nor in your having to see it.”

“So what are you wanting us to do?” Samuel asked.

“A decision has to be made,” Thatcher told him. “Do you want your mother to continue to suffer, or allow her to go, and be at peace. Those are the only two choices we have. I regret to have to tell you that, but I can't change it.”

None of the Webbs responded to that. They began to exchange looks with each other, almost as if communicating without speaking. Eventually everyone was looking at Samuel.

“Ma always said she didn't want to be kept alive by a machine,” he said sadly. “Said it was fine so long as there was a chance, but not if it was just to say she was still alive. I don't see how we can take that decision away from her when she done made it long ago.”

“Sammy-” John instantly began to object.

“John, ain't you did enough?” Lucas sounded tired. “We can't turn around what you ain't bringing shame on us. Ain't that enough for you? You gonna stand here and argue with Ma dying, maybe hurting and can't even be helped? Time for you to grow up. Past time in fact.”

John's face reddened at the dressing down but he nodded jerkily. Samuel waited a minute before looking at Thatcher.

“I'd like for us not to be . . . I mean, if you take that thing off,” he pointed to the respirator, “how long . . . ” He didn't finish, expecting Thatcher to know what he meant.

“Within an hour and most likely much less,” she said gently.

“Will she be in any more pain than she is now?” he asked.

“No,” Thatcher shook her head. “If she's in pain now, this won't increase it any.” She didn't go any further describing how Deborah Webb would struggle to breathe for a short time as her body automatically tried to prolong her life. She could spare them that much, at least.

“Let her go,” Samuel said softly, his face marred with the pain of his decision. “Do you . . . do you think it's all right if we say goodbye before you do it?” he asked her. “I . . . I don't think we need to be here and see that. Would that be wrong of us?”

“Not at all,” Thatcher shook her head. “From what little I've heard of her, your mother would spare you any pain she could. Remember her how she was. We’ll step away and give you time.” She nodded to Caudell and they moved to the other side of the clinic where Mattie Simmons was in a bed, recovering from her own trauma.

“You handled that well, Doctor,” Nate complimented. “Especially with John. He's a hothead and prone to outbursts. Blames the Sanders for every problem he has.”

“Looks like he would be grateful they took him in,” Thatcher replied.

“Don't it?”

***

“Thank you for dealing with them,” Patricia said to Jaylyn Thatcher once the Webbs had departed. “It has been a strain to deal with John.”

“I'm surprised your brother-in-law hasn't sent him away,” the doctor mentioned. “And you're most welcome.”

“There is a committee made up of someone from each main family, and from the members of the Troy farm,” Patricia explained. “Chaired, for lack of a better word, by Leon the Elder. The idea was for each group to have a voice in serious discussions, to allow input from all concerned parties. Clay refused to continue dealing with 'civilian' problems, as he called them, noting that there were plenty of people with experience in those areas that he severely lacked. At first he was forced to do it all and it was very hard on him.”

“Would be on anyone, I'd imagine,” Thatcher nodded. “He seems to have a good command presence,” she added thoughtfully.

“I didn't think you two were getting along,” Patricia ventured carefully. Thatcher smiled.

“I needed to see how in control he was,” the doctor explained. “A group like this one, so diverse and spread out, has to have a firm hand guiding it. You have that in Clay and again in his grandfather. As long as I can have confidence that the command structure is a strong one, then I can concentrate on doing my thing and not worry about outside problems.” She looked slightly embarrassed.

“I know it's a shitty thing to do, but I learned it from an old 'War Horse' doctor, as he referred to himself. 'Jaylyn dear,' he'd say, 'if your CO isn't in charge and on top of things, then you need to be elsewhere. A doctor simply lacks the time for these trivial issues'. Of course they aren't trivial in today's circumstance, but . . . the theory is still the same. I did the same thing to Shane and he responded well. Clay responded even better so I didn't bother with Leon the Elder, as you call him. I'm satisfied we're in as good of hands as is possible, which means that's all I can do.”

Patricia's evaluation of Jaylyn Thatcher climbed several notches at once.

“Why do you call him the Elder, by the way?”

“Well . . . ”

***

“So what happened to Bear?” Shane asked softly as he and Clay sat out front of Building Two. He had not had the opportunity to sit down and ask until now.

“We had some trouble in town,” Clay told him. “My niece made it worse. When I realized . . . ”

Clay was certain he'd done harder things than tell one comrade how another had perished. For the life of him, he couldn't recall what it was at the moment.

***

Deborah Webb breathed her last, ragged breath three hours later. Several people, not all of them Webb family members, hovered nearby, hoping and praying for a miracle, but it wasn't to be. She succumbed to her injuries just before noon after hanging on far longer than most would have thought possible with so little modern medical aid.

Ronny had prepared a grave for her next to her husband, the architect of the pain and suffering the Webb family had endured, and the group held a small wake for Deborah that evening. Condolences were extended and prayers said, and everyone did their best to ensure that the Webbs lacked for nothing and had nothing to do or worry over aside from dealing with their grief. Watchful eyes followed John Webb everywhere he went, no one really trusting him not to make trouble of some kind.

The funeral was subdued, with everyone attending the graveside service aside from those on watch. The Sanders clan had debated among themselves whether to go or not, but in the end it seemed wrong to deny the other Webb family members because of John being an ass. Thus they attended as Deborah Webb was lowered into the ground to rest beside her husband, following him in death as she had in life. It was a somber affair and broke apart without fanfare as everyone returned home aside from a few who had duties that would not wait for a day of observance for the dead.

***

“That was so terribly sad,” Lainie sighed as she collapsed on the sofa after divesting herself of the mourning style dress she had worn to the small cemetery that had been growing so much of late. Clay's inner teenage boy had no problem with Lainie lounging in the living room in her underwear even as his inner adult was agreeing with her intellectually.

“I know,” he nodded. “Josh Webb was an ass, but Miss Deborah . . . she was as fine a woman as I knew,” he admitted. “Kind to a fault, never judgmental, forgiving of shortcomings of others, I mean just the fact that she lived with Josh Webb and didn't kill him should nominate her for sainthood.” His look darkened at that. “And living with him did kill her.”

“Clay, there's no real point to keep focusing on that,” Lainie told him. “All of them other than John have acknowledged that their father's decision to leave was a bad one, and that they should have opposed him just as their mother did. They know it was his fault.”

“I wasn't thinking of blame,” Clay shook his head slowly. “I was thinking of Miss Deborah and the others that we’ll surely miss. Miss Deborah was a comfort to us, Lainie. Her head was full of knowledge we needed to make things better in these new circumstances and . . . and dammit, besides that, she was nice! She deserves to still be here, and her kids deserve to still have her with them.”

“I know,” she threw a blanket over them both and hugged him to her. “I know.”

***

“To Bear,” Shane lifted a cup and the other three joined him.

“We should o' been here,” Stacey Pryor said softly. “We should o' threw in our lot with Bear and come here when him and the others did.”

“Think our being here would have made a difference?” Bodee asked, frowning.

“I don't know,” Pryor shrugged. “But we'd have been with him.”

“You are wanting to have been here for you, not for him,” Xavier said softly and the others looked at him. “Look at that funeral today. Was that for her? Of course not. She has departed and shall not return. Knows or cares nothing for the circumstances of her being laid to rest. Today was for her mourners, most especially for her family. An effort to try and get their own heads around the idea of the loss, and to say good-bye. You wanted to be able to say good-bye to Big Bear yourself,” he told Pryor.

“Something wrong with that?” Pryor demanded. Xavier smiled at him sadly. Kindly.

“No, my brother, there is not,” he raised his own cup to his comrade. “Not a thing in the world. Our being here might have made no difference in what happened to him, but as you say; we would have at least been here to see him off properly. And there is nothing whatsoever wrong with that.” He touched his cup to Pryor's and the two took a drink, followed by Shane and Kevin Bodee.

“We maybe should have come here when Bear and the others did,” Shane nodded. “Maybe even come on ahead with Boss himself since none of us had nobody waiting. Well, other than Trudy,” he grimaced at the mention of his sole cousin.

“But we can't change it now,” Shane went on. “We all stayed 'cause we thought we'd like it better where we had picked out. That's all. Now that we're here, we’ll do our best to make sure nothing like that happens no more. With us added to the rest, this place is stronger. Boss needed the help and now we've brought it to him. We’ll work to make sure there's not another Bear.” He raised his cup.

The others joined him in silence.

***

“Mattie, how are you feeling today?” Beverly asked as she took a seat next to where the young woman was laying.

“I'm not as tired,” Mattie admitted. “Where did Mrs. Webb go?” she asked, seeing the empty bed where the older woman had been lying earlier.

“I'm afraid Mrs. Webb passed away from her injuries earlier today,” Beverly tried to make the news as gentle as possible. “She was laid to rest next to her husband a little while ago.”

“Mrs. Webb, too,” Mattie said sadly. “Where does it end?” she asked, though not really to Beverly. The older woman chose to answer anyway.

“The cycle of life and death doesn't end, Mattie,” she said kindly. “We're all on a journey and death is the end of our experience here on earth. It will come for us all eventually. For some it's sooner than others, but no less certain for us all. It's something we have to accept as part of life.”

“I heard they were here and left,” Mattie turned her attention to Beverly. “Just like I did?”

“No, it wasn't the same,” Beverly replied with a shake of her head. “We were attacked here by a large number. Well over fifty. During the fighting a small group of them went up the hill toward the cabin area. Everyone up there was armed and trained in the basics of defending themselves and their homes, but for some reason they chose to place a young man, boy really, named Bryon Jessup in the most exposed position along with one of the Webb brothers. Micah Webb was killed in the attack and many apparently blamed Bryon.

“Mister Webb was angry and declared that his family wouldn't remain here to fight, and I quote, 'the Sanders' battles'. Somehow, he saw defending his own home as equal to fighting on behalf of the Sanders family.

“Anyway, he ordered his family to pack up and return to their homestead, which they did. A few days, I guess three weeks give or take, the few who are here now returned, Samuel and Luke shot, Jasmine in a state of shock and Josh Webb demanding that Clay and 'his soldiers' free his family. When Clay realized that Webb was trying to lead him into a trap he called Webb on it and Webb pulled a gun on him. Unfortunately for him the sniper on duty couldn't hear what was being said and when he saw the gun he shot and killed Mister Webb in defense of Clay and the others.”

“But he was just upset,” Mattie objected mildly, the first time she had spoken much since her return. “They should have known he wasn't going to shoot anyone!”

“How?” Beverly asked.

“What?”

“How were they to know that a man who pulled a gun on the people living here wasn't going to shoot?” Beverly asked. “We've been attacked four times, five if you count the mystery group that hit us from the back road. Six if you count the cannibals at the forestry station. And I suppose seven if you count how Clay and his family were accosted at the church in Jordan when they tried to carry food to them.”

“Accosted?” Mattie frowned. “At church?”

“A group of people who had been left homeless by the fighting in Peabody,” Beverly nodded. “Clay's parents insisted on carrying food stores to them despite Clay's warning that it would end poorly. And it did. They were attacked by a group trying to take their vehicle from them. Many in the group complained that the Sanders hadn't brought enough food and should have brought more, despite having drawn their stored food dangerously low heading into winter. And others made the statement they expected weekly deliveries of food from that point forward. Didn't offer to work for it or pay for it in any way, mind you. Just demanded it as if it were their right.

“So based on all that, it's not surprising that a drawn gun would elicit such a response, is it?”

Mattie was clearly thinking about that as she lay back.

“No, not taken with all that,” she shook her head slowly. “It's a shame. She was a nice woman.”

“Yes, she was,” Beverly agreed. “I got to know her when they were living here. I liked her very much. And she had a great deal of knowledge that is now lost. Not only will we miss her personality and good cheer, we lost the accumulated knowledge she carried from generations of her ancestors. She had far more worth than just a good personality. She was a valuable healer that many will suffer without. All because of pride and anger.”

“Well, I can understand Mister Webb being angry,” Mattie frowned.  “He lost his son.”

“We had already lost a member of our group that was like family,” Beverly nodded. “Leon the Elder had lost two children of his own in the past, I think it was two,” Beverly frowned at her own memory.  “He especially could relate to the loss and tried to talk to Mister Webb, who he considered a friend. Mister Webb was dead set on blaming Clay, and by extension Leon for the loss of his son. Yet it wasn't Clay or Leon who put a boy who was not prepared for combat in the bunker with Micah Webb. Mister Webb himself and Bryon's father both were to blame for that.”

“What happened to Bryon Jessup?” Mattie asked.

“He took his own life the afternoon that the Webbs departed, convinced he was being blamed for Micah's loss and of his own guilt.”

“That's horrible,” Mattie sounded sad.

“It gets worse,” Beverly sighed. “The Jessups, despite having three other children that needed caring for, fell into depression. Mrs Jessup hanged herself a few days later while Mister Jessup died the same day of alcohol poisoning.”

“What happened to the Jessup children?”

“Daisy and Jasmine Webb have stepped up and are taking care of them,” Beverly said, almost proudly. “The two of them went through a terrible ordeal, but are still going. Stern stuff, there,” she said firmly.

“Good for them,” Mattie nodded. “I blamed the Sanders for my home being burned,” she added a few seconds later, a bit shame faced.

“So I hear,” Beverly nodded. “I try not to listen to things like that since I don't want it to influence my work trying to help others, but I'm afraid it was hard to miss.”

“I guess they're angry,” Mattie looked down at her hands, basically twiddling her thumbs.

“I think you can make that assumption,” Beverly knew there was no sense in trying to make less of it. “They do understand you were under a great deal of stress at the time, however. And you are far from the first person to blame the Sanders for their problems.”

“It was just . . . if they could save their home, why not mine?” Mattie asked.

“Mattie, you weren't here when the fire hit,” Beverly said more sternly than usual. “For three days every person on the place worked their ass off trying to save our homes and our way of surviving. It was so close that we had a small convoy of vehicles on the pad out front ready to carry the children and most of the women away from here with an escort, to try and find a safe place for them to live. Thanks to the hard work of two dozen people we didn't have to go, but it was close. We almost lost the barn, we lost a lot of grass and also a dozen or so acres of trees. We burned fuel we will need for planting or harvest to make a fire break. For chainsaws that we’ll need to cut firewood and saw lumber. Can you comprehend standing out front with screaming children, hoping you don't have to evacuate without even having a safe place in mind to go while flames are visible above the trees?”

“No,” she admitted. “No, I can't.”

“Can you at least, knowing the truth of what happened here, see that there was no way for any of the Sanders to save your home? That there was no way for us as a group to help anyone else because we were busy trying to survive ourselves?”

Mattie kept looking at her hands without replying.

“No one was coming to help us,” Beverly pointed out. “Thanks to a few hours warning from Leon, the fire department had the chance to protect their vehicles. We didn't see any of them coming to help us. Hopefully they helped somewhere else, but they didn't help here or anywhere around us. Did you blame them for your loss? Blame the firemen who had working equipment and training and the ability to actually save your home?”

“No,” Mattie's voice was small.

“Maybe you should rethink your attitude concerning the Sanders and the others on this farm,” Beverly suggested. “Despite your outburst in blaming us for your loss, you're still here and being cared for. No group of people who didn't care for others would bother with that. There's an orphanage on top of the hill, full of children left without parents. Did you know that?”

“No.”

“It was the Sanders who took them in, and are have primarily been responsible for feeding them. Abigail's family took you into their home when your group arrived, made you welcome and took care of you. Are those the actions of someone who doesn't care?”

“No,” Mattie shook her head, tears starting to flow. Beverly decided that was enough for now.

“You need to rest,” she patted the younger woman's hand and stood. “You need rest and someone will be here soon with some supper. You have been through a great deal of turmoil, Mattie and emerged from it still able to function. Not everyone who faces what you have does that. Some simply quit. You haven't. Despite everything, you've kept going. That shows your strength, and it shows that you're going to make it. You're going to deal with the horrors behind you and I'm going to help you, just as others will.”

“But for now, just rest and get your head together. You've got a lot to process. If you need me just tell whoever is in here and they can call me, okay?”

“Thank you Miss Jackson.”

“You're very welcome.”

***

“Move, move move!” Nate yelled as his class ran the obstacle course yet again. “Some of you look like turtles you're moving so slow! The fight would be over before you got where you were supposed to be!”

“I am so glad I'm not in Nate's shoes,” Tandi noted as he watched from the sidelines in case someone was injured.

“It will be one of us next time,” Clay reminded him. “Not you, since you’ll need to be available to treat injuries. Lucky little shit,” he grumbled.

“Hey, at least Lainie is doing really well,” Tandi pointed out. “She won't be repeating if you have to teach.”

“I'm not going to be teaching,” Clay shook his head.

“How do you know?” Tandi asked.

“I'm in charge, that's how.”

***

“Better,” Nate was nodding as the group sat on the ground, some still heaving for air. “Much better. A few of you are almost good enough not to die in the first volley. Might even reach your emplacements. That's awesome!”

“The sarcasm is strong with this one,” someone noted and the others laughed.

“Go ahead, laugh it up,” Nate nodded, amused in spite of himself. “The good part is that all of you finished. First time that's happened. And that really is a definite improvement. No one dropped any gear, no one quit. I'd rather have ten of you that never stopped trying than twenty who could finish easily but were lazy. Effort counts. It won't win battles by itself, but you can't win without it.”

“You know the drill by now,” he clapped his hands. “Chow and showers, then assemble in the classroom at one. Bring your gear with you. See you there.”

He watched the tired but now upbeat group heading for their respective domiciles to clean the dirt of the morning training session away before they grabbed a meal. He really was pleased with them.

“They're doing pretty good,” Clay said, appearing beside him.

“They really are,” Nate nodded happily. “I keep pushing so they won't slack off any, but for people who came into this without anything to refer to, at least mostly, they're doing awesome. I think by the time we finish, they will be able to defend their positions and protect themselves and each other. I really do.”

“That's good,” Clay nodded. “’Cause you can bet that sooner or later we’ll see more of this North Alabama Pimple Militia.”

“I thought it was People's Militia,” Nate frowned.

“Whatever.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“ . . . you who are listening and have not yet embraced the truth of the adjustment we've been though, I warn you; do not be fooled. Do not be deceived. This doom that has come to us is Divine punishment for our wicked nature and our degenerate behavior! Those of us who have survived are those found Worthy! Did you hear me? Those of us who have survived are those who have been found to be Worthy of inheriting the Earth and all its treasures. What remains that is good is here for us to take! We are the deserving force! The Worthy now own this world through Divine intervention and all that is here now belongs to us! We will never again be forced to . . . ”

“To quote a movie reference, that guy's mind is a bag of cats,” Deuce shook his head as he turned down the volume. They were recording it anyway.

“The Utmost Worthy speaks to the masses,” Millie snorted. She had been here a grand total of two weeks now, but had slid neatly into a niche that suited her perfectly and that she could handle well. And her company wasn't bad either, she decided as she gave Deuce a side-long glance.

He was a good-looking kid, she had decided. A little taller than her thanks to the rotten genetics of two short parents who were themselves the products of short parents, Leon Sanders, (the Younger: note to self, hates that term) had bright, pretty eyes that were full of intelligence and devilry. Always with something working, always doing at least four things at once, it was hard not to like him.

Who was she kidding? Deuce was a nerdy girl's dream. Intelligent, handsome, outgoing, a family that not only didn't look down on intelligence but embraced and made use of it, not to mention was well to do. A girl could do a lot worse than someone like Leon Sanders.

Yeah, he was almost two years younger than her, but who cared? In ten years that two years difference wouldn't mean a thing. And Leon was fun to be around. Millie hadn't experienced that very often in her young life. Most people were not in fact fun to be around because the majority of people were intimidated by her intelligence and were biased against her Asian heritage. Leon was neither, and no one in his family seemed any different. The fact that her parents were from Taiwan didn't seem to matter to them.

She felt a wave of sadness envelop her at that. Her folks had been away to Taiwan when the wave hit. There was no way they could return short of a sailing boat, and neither of them knew anything about boats outside the fact that they went in the water. She hoped that mainland China would not take this opportunity to invade the island as her parents would be considered the People's Enemy.

For years the Long family had operated a radio service dedicated to sending news of the real world to rural Communist China in an attempt to sow discord among the peasants. This was done in hopes of helping them to throw off the yoke of Marxism, rising up to take control of their nation for themselves.

Fat chance.

The People's Liberation Army was the largest single military on the planet. The Communist Government of China maintained power only because the PLA was behind them. No way was the PLA going to tolerate any kind of 'freedom' among the 'beloved workers and peasants' of the Middle Kingdom.

Millie had begged and pleaded with her parents not to go. To give up this ridiculous action that was doomed to fail. There were other ways to combat the evils of the communist giant without exposing themselves continuously to danger. But her parents were nothing if not determined and would not be swayed. Part of an organization backed by Chinese ex-pats in America as well as wealthy members of Taiwan society, the Longs were thoroughly convinced that if they threw enough money and effort at the problem, they would win.

So it was that Millie was alone when the CME had turned the world off, most likely separating her from her parents forever.

“You okay?” Leon's voice broke her from her reverie and she looked up at him from her chair. He was on his feet, looking down at her with concern evident on his face. At that moment she wondered if she actually loved the younger teen. She promptly stomped on that notion, refusing to entertain it or give it a foothold.

“Ah, I'm fine,” she lied, waving her hand. “Just over-thinking something. I do it all the time.”

“So do I, and that isn't what it looks like,” Deuce frowned slightly. “If something's wrong you should say so, Millie. Don't let it lay on you until it makes you crazy. It ain't healthy. You know?”

She felt her heart melt a little more at the look of concern on his face and the sound of it in his voice. Dammit. She was supposed to be stronger than this. How was he doing this to her?

“I was thinking about my parents,” she sighed, deciding it was far too late to start ignoring him now. “About how we parted, and how I will almost certainly never see them again.”

“Where were they?” Deuce asked, returning to his seat and leaning forward in interest. It made her want to reach out and stroke his face, it was such a tender movement. Damn him and his cuteness. His distracting and unnerving cuteness. Her mental foot was tiring from all the stomping.

“Taiwan,” she told him. “They operate, did operate I should say, a radio service that broadcast into Communist China. That's where I learned about long and short wave radio. They were in Taiwan checking on the program and probably participating themselves when the lights went out. I was just wondering if China had decided to invade since most electronic defense measures are probably toast now.”

“I'm sorry,” Deuce said earnestly. “That's a rough pill to swallow.”

“I begged them not to go,” Millie was looking at the floor now, fighting the tears that threatened to bloom. Don't cry, don't cry, don't let him see you crying.

“I begged them not to go because it was a lost cause anyway and I told them that,” she continued. “Not the most kind thing to say to people who devoted their lives to trying to free others from the yoke of Communism. But I could see that their efforts weren't going to work so why couldn't they? They just patted my head and told me how proud they were of my grades and be good while they were gone. I mean, is it too much to ask that they just stay here with me? You know, where they were when I graduated? Taiwan. First time a boy asked me out, was my father there to threaten him if he didn't behave? Nope. Taiwan. My first peri-”

“Hey, hey, hey there!” a startled Deuce interrupted. “Are we about to get into TMI territory here?” She looked up at him, initially angry that he had cut her off. But then, as it registered on her what she had been about to say, she flushed a bit. Then she noticed the look of alarm on his face and broke down laughing.

Laughing so hard that tears she had been fighting back could flow as tears of laughter and happiness instead of tears of sorrow. Deuce joined her, happy that he had managed to lift her spirits, but making a mental note that Millie needed to speak to someone about this.

Deuce was honest enough to admit he liked her. Millie was pretty and had the generous curves that boys his age enjoyed seeing but . . . she was also smart. Very smart. Smart enough for him to actually converse with and not just talk to. Maybe not as smart as Leanne, but not far behind, either. He had also noted that her tendency toward biting sarcasm and wit was somewhat in abeyance when it was just the two of them alone. To him that meant either she didn't think enough of him to use it, which he doubted since she just wouldn't spend time with him at all were that the case, or else . . . or else maybe she liked him the same way he thought he liked her.

Leon the Deuce had never been in this unique position before. He'd never encountered a girl smart enough that he could enjoy her company for more than half-an-hour before becoming bored. He'd been around Millie for more than a week now and was starting to wonder if this was what infatuation felt like.

“Oh, my God!” Millie broke him from those thoughts as she wiped her eyes. Before the CME, wiping tears would have resulted in runny mascara but she no longer worried much about such things. She had never worn make-up to feel good about herself, but instead to foster her Goth image. Her wardrobe was mostly black just as her make-up had been, both complimenting her normally dark mood. She had never given much thought to how people looked at her, or what they saw when they did look her way.

She was rethinking that strategy now.

Deuce, for his part, was convinced she looked just fine sans make-up of any kind. He was also convinced that her laughter was the best thing he had heard in days, and it pleased him no end that he was responsible for it.

Before either could say anything more, the phone rang just before the radio started demanding attention. Both returned to work, their discussion left for another time.

***

Gordy watched as Mattie Simmons helped work the garden on the hill, carefully cutting grass from the rows and middles to help the plants grow. When Mattie had left the clinic she had ended up housing with Dee Talbot and her children. While Dee had a son, he was very young still so that the presence of another female would be comforting rather than the opposite. Dee Talbot had welcomed the young woman and made her feel at ease, and Mattie was adjusting to her life on the hill.

Gordy had worried that his mother and sister, or worse his girlfriend, would insist that Mattie stay with them instead. He had been prepared to move out of the house if that happened. He had not said as much, simply been ready for it. He would not spend a single night under the same roof as Mattie Simmons, as he didn't trust himself to behave if she started slinging blame at him and his family again. He needn't have worried, however. Both his sister and his mother were rather put out by Mattie's tirade, and had made it known in no uncertain terms that Mattie Simmons had no place in their home.

Gordy had to admit that Mattie was behaving thus far, but still couldn't bring himself to trust her. So, he kept an eye out for trouble whenever he was nearby.

The last week had been one of adjustments for everyone. One great and wonderful thing had been the addition of six trained and experienced military personnel to the security team. Essentially an entire shift added to the roster. That had reduced the number of watches everyone had to stand, which allowed for a little more sleep and more time to take care of other duties. Gordy didn't mind security detail, but they had almost reached a point where it was all they had time for. Having the new help was wonderful.

Having extra muscle had been just as welcome once it was discovered what was in those armored trailers.

***

“I . . . don't know what to say,” Clay finally managed. He had spent twenty minutes reviewing the contents of the two munitions trailers Shane had brought with him during a meeting held the day after they had 'released' the Shirley woman.

“Well that's a first,” Mitchell Nolan snorted and Shane cackled in agreement.

“Where the hell did you manage to get all this?” Clay asked. “And . . . you got it after the wave hit?”

“And the trucks,” Shane nodded. “Kandi got it. All of it.”

“How?”

“Well, she was part of Sustainment Command, and she had the authority to order trucks loaded out for delivery to wherever,” Shane replied. “So, when her and Sienna decided they were coming with us, she cracked her knuckles and sat down at a keyboard, several of which were still working thanks to preparedness and the Texas power grid, and started typing orders. For the next thirty minutes it was 'hey, can you use these?' or 'hey, do you want this?' or 'what about one of those?' and so forth. Few hours later it was just show up with orders and drive away in the trucks.”

“Unbelievable,” Clay was shaking his head. “We have got to get this shit in the ground before there's nothing left but a crater.”

That led to a three day work binge with dozers digging and scraping as logs were cut and pulled into place, ready to line the walls of a new munitions bunker. The armored trailers were a nice touch and after much debate it was decided to leave everything loaded and use the trailers themselves to help enhance the strength of the new bunker. The fortification was made over large so that getting trucks in and out of the hole to move the trailers if it became needful would not be a problem. The end result of their labor had been a completely log-lined structure partially buried in the ground, with rock and earth overburdened along the top that left it looking very much like a Native ceremonial mound. The mound was then covered with hay left from winter to hold the soil and to foster the growth of grass. It would not take long for the site to look as if it were merely a geographical feature.

The 'mound' was built to be driven all the way through, with the entrance and exit both covered as well, with drainage in place around them to prevent water from running inside, a lesson learned from the first such structure built behind the Sanders' residences. It was a bit more difficult to manage with a truck entrance, but still possible. With the mound built in such a way, it would be a simple exercise to pull in, hook the trailers up and then pull them out again should the need to move them arise. As a plus factor, the mound would also make an excellent storm shelter.

The remaining armored trailer had been carrying dry goods and had been off loaded into Building One along with the semi-trailer carrying the canned and freeze dried foodstuffs acquired for the (at that time) coming disaster. As a precaution, food stores were spread among all three buildings to prevent the loss of everything in the event of fire or other disaster. Among other items, Kandi Ledford had acquired web and field gear, DBU uniforms, boots in every size that had still been available, and dozens of other items that no one would miss until they needed them, including a complete set of Army field manuals covering everything from emergency first aid to wilderness survival to improvised weapons and explosives.

“How come none of us thought of these?” Nate Caudell held up one of the books.

“Uh, Nate?” Mitchell Nolan asked. “Do you not know how to do that stuff?”

“Of course I do!” was the indignant response.

“Then that's why we didn't think to get the manuals,” his friend nodded.

“Oh. Yeah,” Nate tossed the book back into the tub it had been stored in. “That makes sense.”

“Of course it does. I said it.”

***

The twins had listened to Kandi Ledford for all of ten minutes before promptly turning over all inventory controls to her, lock stock and tablet. The young woman was a real and actual organizational genius and had years of experience in managing ridiculously large inventories. They spent the next four days going over every scrap of paper and every program they had with her, walking through every storage area and bunker to acclimate her to her new job.

“You guys have done an amazing job with this,” she told the preening teens. “I've seen professionals who wouldn't have done this well, never mind any better.”

“Thanks,” came the reply. In unison of course.

“Have you guys ever seen The Shining?” Kandi asked, looking at them speculatively.

“We've heard of it.” Again in unison.

“Imagine that.”

***

“And it's a Cummins?” Jake mused, looking at the engine compartment of one of the M1117 vehicles.

“Rated for 260 horses at just over 825 foot pounds of torque,” Sienna Newell nodded proudly. “She isn't the strongest or the sexiest, but she's got it where it counts,” she patted the hull fondly.

“And you have a parts inventory with you?” Jake asked her.

“Not just for these, but yes,” she nodded. “After such a long trip, they really do need an overhaul. I was dreading that to be honest, until I walked in here and met you.”

“Aw, shucks,” Jake scuffed his boot as if kicking a can and Sienna laughed delightedly.

“We moved most of my shop that survived down here,” he continued seriously. “We try not to use anything heavy to save on power, but we do have a generator for times when we need to run the heavier stuff, like the mill or the press. We don't have a lift, but the twins designed this building with a trench, so we can still get underneath,” he pointed to the grate covered service 'trench' running down the center of the floor.

“We shouldn't need that for these babies,” she told him, “though that crane will come in handy,” she pointed overhead. “Man, those are some sharp kids,” she shook her head.

“Just don't ask 'em to drive.”

***

Beverly sat down with Brick (Byron) on Leon's front porch. She had always appreciated how comfortable the house was especially considering its age. It had a homey feeling that was hard to find even before the lights went out.

“How may I help you Miss Jackson?” Brick asked politely. She studied him as he spoke and realized she had missed a great deal about him in their interactions. Admittedly she had not been analyzing him at that time, but some warning signs she should have caught, she had missed.

“I was approached by Xavier to act as a professional buffer between he and you in an effort to, in his words, clear the air between you.”

“Miss Jackson, I have a great deal of respect for you,” Brick said quietly. “Please don't misunderstand what I am about to say. The last place you should be is between Xavier and I.”

“I happen to agree with that sentiment,” Beverly nodded. “Your brother, however, made some excellent arguments in favor of my helping you. Apparently one of his teammates suggested that if he pulled his head out and actually spoke to you, there might be excellent reasons behind your behavior that has so upset him. That you might have actually acted in their best interest rather than your own. This had never seemed to occur to him until now.”

“How unusual,” Brick raised an eyebrow. “It isn't often something gets by him in such a manner. Very well, what did he say?”

“Just that,” Beverly replied. “I want to hear both sides of your tale and then try and see where, if at all, there might be a starting place for the two of you to talk. We as a group need the two of you to at least be neutral to one another. Both of you are great resources, assets if you will, and we need you. There's no secret to that nor should it be a surprise. We cannot, however, function properly with the two of you each literally at the throat of the other.”

“That is true,” Brick agreed. “Very well. I will tell you what happened, with the proviso that you are acting in your professional capacity and that what I say stays between us, with the possible exception of Xavier as needed. Is that agreeable?”

“Of course,” Beverly nodded.

“Then allow me to offer you something to drink. It is not a short story.”

***

“What are you doing?”

Xavier actually jumped at the sound of Clay's voice, turning almost guiltily to face his former commander with binoculars still in hand where he had just been observing Beverly Jackson interact with the oaf. With Byron, he corrected himself mentally.

“I assume there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for why I find you casing my Old Man's home?” Clayton's voice had a very dangerous edge that not a full dozen people on this ranch had ever heard. Xavier Adair was one of those who had.

“I am not casing your Old Man's home,” Xavier managed to sound offended and hurt at the same time. “You make me sound like some common thief. Were I to be a thief, I assure you I would be an extraordinary thief.”

“I'm sure,” Clay didn't even nod. “What are you doing?”

“If you must know, I asked Miss Jackson to serve as a mediator between myself and the baboon,” Xavier nodded toward where said Miss Jackson and baboon were sitting on Leon's porch. “I was trying to ascertain if she was making any headway or if he would merely dismiss her out of hand.”

“And?” Clay asked.

“It would appear that she has convinced him to participate, at least for the time being,” Xavier spoke slowly, almost reluctantly.

“You better be serious about this,” Clay warned.

“I would not have started it were I not,” Xavier promised. “It was Shane, believe it or not, who placed the idea in my head. Mentioning that I should at least hear what the gorilla has to say. That he might have a perfectly reasonable explanation for how he had acted, or perhaps reacted. And she is a professional. If there is any hope of our having even a minor reconciliation, then we will have to have assistance. Too much bad blood lies between us otherwise.”

“I'm proud of you, X,” Clay almost smiled.

“Please, let us not get emotional,” Xavier shuddered as he put away the glasses. “I would have to wash it off and they've already shut off the hot water.”

***

“If I didn't know how fast we could run through everything I'd think we were in great shape,” Clay mused as he met with Kandi Ledford and the twins for an updated report on the inventory.

“Well, technically we are in great shape at least for the time being,” Kandi reminded him. “You guys were already doing well and our additions have just cushioned that along with filling a few empty areas that you had.”

“But what there is will be all there is,” Clay sighed. “There is no resupply.”

“Not for most things,” she agreed.

“We have to start building down while we can,” Leanne noted. “With so much damage done to not only the grid but to the factories that used it, it is just a matter of time before we're back living in the nineteenth century. We’ll maintain our level of technology for a while, but unless some miracle reverses things, it will eventually fail.”

“One of the main things right now is tool production,” Deuce was nodding. “We need to be concentrating on making the things we're going to need down the road while we still have the means to do it. Horse and mule drawn plows for just one example.”

“Look, as bad as I hate to have to say it, to face it even, I don't have the time to devote to this,” Clay admitted. “It will be harvest soon enough and there is also that group in Alabama we've been trying to monitor. Sooner or later they will make a determined push in our direction. When that happens we have to be prepared. If Emily Shirley was telling us even a partial truth, they have three to five hundred people and most of them are fighters. There are miles of preparations we have to make before that happens.

“You guys are going to have to start getting things like this rolling,” he ordered. “If someone refuses to cooperate then take it to Leon and let him deal. For now I want you three doing nothing but this. Kids, get Gwen Paige up to date on radio operations so she can help fill in while you're out. She seems more than smart enough to handle it and has a good attitude. Do not include her girlfriend. I get a bad vibe from her and don't want her handling any of our communications.”

“I hate to speak ill of anyone, but Trudy really is a world class lesbian bitch,” Kandi said reluctantly. “She expects trouble everywhere over her 'choice' and so ends up making the trouble for herself. The ultimate in self-fulfilling prophecy. And yeah, Gwen is her polar opposite. If you’ll accept a suggestion?” she looked at Clay.

“Absolutely.”

“Assuming Gwen works out, and I think she will, then release her from duty at the orphanage and give that duty to Trudy in addition to her own. I'd be careful about leaving her unsupervised at the orphanage, too. Maybe you could have that older woman, Mrs George I think, placed in permanent charge of the orphanage and let her schedule work shifts where Trudy is never there alone with the children? She may well prove trustworthy at it and if so I’ll gladly apologize, but until she does, that's the way I'd go.”

“You think she's a threat to the children?” Clay frowned.

“Oh, no,” Kandi shook her head quickly. “No, it's just that I don't know how responsible she is.”

“Go tell Leon that and get his okay, and then let him see to it,” Clay ordered the twins.” Other suggestions like that are equally welcome, by the way,” he informed Ledford.

“I’ll mind it,” she promised. “We’ll make it work.”

***

That wasn't the last planning session Clay had to attend that day.

“It's too much,” Jose mused, looking at the map laid out before them. “There are too many ways for them to get here. We can't possibly monitor them all.” He leaned over the table, hand moving over the surface.

“Here are three major highways that all lead straight to our door, right out of their AO,” he traced the lines representing said highways. “That doesn't factor in how many back roads that cross the line, and also doesn't take into account that nothing says they have to come straight at us. They could just as easily use these highways,” he pointed to new lines both east and west of their location, “and then come at us from either flank.” He looked up at Clay.

“We can't cover half of this, let alone all of it,” he finished.

“True,” Clay nodded. “No argument. That's why we're here. To figure out what we can do.”

“One thing we can't do is allow a force this size to invest this place,” Shane's voice was firm and definite. “Even if it's just half their supposed number, they would overwhelm us. Hell, they don't even have to do that. With their numbers they can just encircle us and wait us out, picking us off a few at the time.”

“Also true,” Clay replied. “Suggestions?”

“If I'm seeing this correctly,” Xavier mused, looking at the map, “despite however many ways there are into this area, there remains only two ways to approach this farm aside from a long hike through the woods. Correct?”

“Correct,” Clay nodded.

“Then our problem is somewhat simplified,” Xavier noted. “We don't have to defend against all these access points at all. We need only concern ourselves with warning. We need some kind of early warning system that would allow us to know when they come close. We plan and set ambushes clear and away from the farm proper and engage any approaching column at distance. Inflict as many casualties as possible before falling back and preparing another series of attacks.”

“The problem with it is we eventually run out of room,” Mitchell Nolan observed. “It would work once or maybe twice, but there's no way they just keep coming like that. Not unless they're completely stupid. And we have to assume they're not or they'd not have made it this long. Or been prepared for it to start with.”

“Point,” Xavier admitted. “The early warning and observation issues still apply, however.”

“Agreed,” Tandi Maseo joined in. “We have to have some way to get eyes on. Not on them directly, at least not where they live, but we have to expand our own observation points. We need something on or at least near the Interstate and again back the other way,” he traced the back way onto the farm from where they had already been attacked once. “Can't ignore either one.”

“But in what way?” Nate Caudell asked. He was looking away, out over the land across the road from where they stood clustered before Building One. “I can only see two ways and neither is a good one,” he turned back to face them.

“One, we build towers similar to here,” he pointed to the tower behind the Sanders' homes, “and operate from there. Two, we use the Hummers and have a mobile observation post that operates however long we need it to. The towers are impractical for that since hiding them becomes difficult if not impossible, and using the Hummers just exposes us further to discovery. All that vehicular movement in and out of here will attract attention eventually.”

No one contested that evaluation, seeing the accuracy in what he'd said. Silence reigned for a moment as they all considered what to do.

“Empty houses,” Jose Juarez said suddenly, his head coming up.

“What?” more than one voice asked.

“Empty houses,” Juarez repeated, becoming more animated. “We're looking at this all wrong. We don't need to build a tower or anything else. We need to scout out empty houses along the paths we need to be watching over and make them into observation points. It's pretty much perfect camouflage. By now everyone has gotten used to seeing empty houses almost everywhere. One more won't make a difference. Establish a lookout inside one of those houses and maintain a watch from there.”

“That can work,” Kevin Bodee spoke slowly, considering. “But it's manpower intensive and boring as all hell. Something so far away like that, we can't change the guard like we do here. You're talking days at a time away, and nothing to do but watch. Like a hunt that doesn't end.”

“It severely affects our manpower, too,” Nate mused aloud. “Figure two posts, one at each end,” he pointed to places on the map. “Two men minimum per post. That's four experienced fighters taken out of our defense here and it's not temporary, either. That's a major restructuring of our current assignments. A permanent one at that.”

“Logistics,” Jody Thompson spoke for the first time. He had been so quiet that it had been easy to overlook him until he spoke.

“What?” Shane asked.

“Logistics becomes an issue,” Jody nodded at the map. “Say a week long deployment of two to each position. It's not just supplies, it becomes also a question of heating in winter, just to name one. There are cold spells here where it hovers around zero. There's no way to maintain a position in a house without at least some heat. If nothing else it becomes difficult if not impossible to simply keep your water supply unfrozen.” It was a long speech for Jody and he didn't waste a single word.

“Also true,” Clay agreed with a nod. “I'm not saying it isn't workable, but it means a lot of work to get ready. And if the houses we locate have set empty all this time, you can expect them to be full of unsavory guests. Rattlesnakes, black widow and brown recluse spiders, copperheads and the list goes on. Any of those now could be fatal or at the very least life changing. Just throwing that out there,” he added.

“Why not simply purpose build what we need, where we need it?” Stacey Pryor asked.

“Build a house you mean?” Mitchell clarified.

“Well, not so much a house as a simple outpost,” Stacy shook his head. “Log walls and ceiling to form a small but functional cabin like structure that will serve to protect and conceal at the same time. Place it in a wooded area, even better if we can put it near a water source, try to make about every third or fourth log a cedar to help with bugs, maybe put out some food to attract cats and keep rodents down and so forth and so on. If we do it this way, then we don't have to settle for whatever location we can get. We slide into hiding right where we want and maintain our watches from right there.”

“Use them to control ambush sites as well,” Xavier mused. “Claymores on command detonation, maybe some half-used propane canisters or even just some homemade FAE components . . . we could easily make sure that an approaching enemy walked square into a withering blast. A true equalizer.”

“All of this sounds wonderful,” Mitchell noted, drawing a deep breath, “but there is one major issue we're ignoring, or at least overlooking.”

“Which is?” Nate asked, curious.

“Nothing says that everyone who decides to come this way is an enemy, or that they intend to attack us,” he said evenly. “There have to be at least a few people who are looking to live peacefully just like we are.”

“Well . . . that is true,” Clay rubbed his chin. “Suggestions for that?”

“Have you guys bothered getting out and having a look around lately?” Shane asked suddenly. “I mean we went to take Tall Girl home and didn't see a soul. But the kid skirted around that little town across the highway. What's it called again? Jordan?”

“Yeah,” Clay nodded. “And no, we haven't. Not really. We've made a few runs when necessary, but nothing we didn't have to do. And nothing recently save for the trip to the Webb homestead and to get the Talbots. We've tried to keep as low a profile as possible.”

“Which as I understand it hasn't worked all that well,” Shane pointed out.

“That's an understatement if ever I heard one,” Tandi snorted.

“Maybe it's time to get out and have a look-see?” Shane suggested. “You're stronger now with all of us here, so a good patrol would not compromise security here too terribly. Plus if we restrict our ride to a reasonable circuit, we can always return here in a few minutes if we're needed. Why not get out and see what's around? Truth is we could use some friends, even if it's just as informants.”

No one spoke for a minute, everyone working Shane's suggestion around in their mind. There was merit to it, but also risks.

“Last time we tried to cultivate good will we were nearly robbed,” Clay sighed.

“But you were in a pickup truck and had your folks along,” Mitchell reminded him. “Not in a MRAP or Hummer and armed to the teeth.”

“Also true,” Clay agreed. “We also face being turned against by those who're angry because we've 'held out' all this time. Not helping those in need through the winter and so forth.”

“Only we have,” Tandi mentioned. “We've taken people in, taken responsibility for orphaned children, and fed hungry people on a regular basis. The fact that we haven't gotten to everyone doesn't mean we ain't been working at it. And we don't let people know who we are or where we are, neither. This ain't our first rodeo, as you people like to say.”

“Yeah,” Kevin Bodee was nodding. “Real hearts and minds campaign, here,” he thumped the map. “But we do it smart and careful. No way for anyone to trace us back here or figure out where we're coming from.”

“Cost us a few cattle and some canned goods,” Nate mused. “That fly with your folks?” he asked Clay.

“Are you kidding?” Clay snorted. “They'd have given away half the herd by now if Leon hadn't slammed his foot down. All right, let’s look at this again . . . ”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“I'd say six beef cattle, halved and smoked. Take three days or so probably. Smoked meat will hold a long while and not ruin. And it's a good idea, taking 'em with you as you go. If people have to wait they may not be so thankful. Smart thinking, boy.”

Leon sat in the chair on his front porch, pleased with what he had heard in the last thirty minutes. Clay and his friends just might have come up with a fine way to work back into the community, though said community wouldn't know it was the Sanders who were providing the foodstuffs.

“By smoking the meat, we eliminate the need for people to cook it,” Clay said. “They can just carve off a hunk and have at it. We're carrying a few cases of canned veggies, too. Mostly corn and beans. One can per customer. Those who want variety can learn to share. Meanwhile we earn some good will, maybe. Something in short supply these days.”

“And you think this will help us in the long run?” Leon asked. He wasn't against the plan, already having said it was a good idea. That didn't mean he thought it would work so well as his grandson thought it might.

“I don't know,” Clay admitted. “We were working on a way to give us some warning if and when that bunch from Alabama start our way and it devolved into this. If we can get others on our side, helping us a bit, then we don't necessarily have to watch ourselves, at least not all the time. Right now we're playing it by ear and seeing what we can make work. This was one of the ideas.”

“Ain't a bad thought,” Leon nodded. “Hope it works for ya. Gonna try in Jordan?”

“I figure it's best,” Clay nodded. “We’ll make a circle and come at Jordan from the south. Make it more difficult for them to track in on where we came from and give us a chance to see what's still around. I figure wherever we see people, we’ll stop and offer 'em a bit of the food and what not. Try to make friends as we go.”

“I guess you know that 'friends' will be a matter of convenience,” Leon grunted.

“Everything nowadays is gonna be matters of convenience,” Clay replied. “This wasn't supposed to be how this worked,” he sighed tiredly and rubbed his face with his hands. “If everyone had just stayed quiet and stayed put . . . ”

“But they didn't and you can't get air back in a bottle,” Leon sympathized but couldn't help fix the problem.

“No, we can't,” Clay nodded. “Done is done. We're gonna build a smoke house,” he told Leon, changing the subject. “One big enough we can get maybe three cows in at a time, halved and on racks. Mister Brown can butcher the meat for us and we can hand it out as is or even jerk it, I guess. We’ll look at it and see what works best.” He stood. “If you happen to think of anything else that might help let me know. I feel sometimes like I'm floundering in water, Leon,” he admitted suddenly. “Like it's all I can do to stay afloat.”

“That's called responsibility, boy,” Leon nodded. “Weighs on you. Holds you down, even pushes you down, feels like sometimes. You and Lainie gal ever start poppin' out young 'uns it will only get worse,” he promised.

“Great pep talk, Leon,” Clay said flatly. “Really. I feel so much better now.”

“I ain't really trying to discourage you, son,” Leon told him gently. “I ain't. Truth is, Lord willing you both stay healthy, you two kids can have a good life even in times like these. You both work hard and help look after one 'nother and sometimes that's all a man and woman really need when times fall hard. But boy,” Leon's voice grew harder, “it's time you stiffened up some. Stop asking and start telling. I keep telling you, you got to get folks used to you being in charge.”

“I'm working on it,” Clay shrugged. “I got a lot to do around here, Leon. Plus pulling my share of security duty.”

“That needs to stop,” Leon ordered. “Commanding officer don't stand a watch in the Army, does he?”

“Well, no,” Clay agreed. “But I'm-,”

“In command,” Leon's head bobbed once in a firm nod. “You got men under you that can take over schedules and what not and make sure we're covered, ain't ya? Got how many trained now and experienced, counting Gordy and his bunch? Twenty, maybe twenty-five? They can do it without you, so let 'em. Pick one, Juarez I'd guess but that's on you, and let them take care of security. You got more than just that to do and need time to do it.”

Clay mulled that over. It was true that his presence was no longer really a mandatory thing. There were plenty of people to stand watches. And Leon was right in saying that Clay had a great deal more to do than just security. It wasn't supposed to have been this way.

“How did things get so complicated?” he asked Leon suddenly. “We had a good plan, didn't we?”

“We did,” Leon agreed. “What we didn't have was willing participants in said plan. Never occurred to me that our own family might be our worst problem. Should have, being as I know 'em all, but it didn't. Reckon that's more on me than you, son,” the Old Man sagged back in his chair. “I figured a lot o' things wrong and missed a lot more, thinking the whole time I had a handle on it. So smart that I out-smarted myself,” he snorted.

“Wasn't just you, Leon,” Clay shook his head. “I missed a lot, too. Should have known things was looking too easy. We played it . . . no, I played it wrong on being isolated, too. We should have been fostering friends and creating a network around us that we could have warned when the kids first saw it coming. Now, we're damn near pariahs because we were prepared and ain't having it so bad as others.”

“Start feeding hungry people and they’ll get over. Come around. If we take care of who we can, then we can foster friendships now, maybe better than we could before. And it don't hurt that we're responsible for getting rid of that damned committee. We can't be the only people they tried to shake down. Use that to your advantage when you see a chance to do it. That and killing Toby Peyton, too. Rescuing them women. Hell, boy, you ain't been idle by no means. And we've fed a lot of people and housed them, too. It’ll work out,” he semi-promised.

“Your lips to God's ear, Leon.”

***

“Starting tomorrow you will be in command of the security detachment and scheduling watch shifts,” Clay told Jose Juarez. “I won't be on the watch schedule anymore, and you should work mostly days so you're available. Better that you're not tied down to a watch and can respond to whatever is happening.”

“Got it,” Jose didn't seem surprised at all by the news.

“Leave Newell off the watch for now, too,” Clay continued. “She's helping Jake go over the vehicles that Shane brought, starting with those Guardians. I'd really like to have one of them working in top condition.”

“Will do,” Jose made a note in the small notebook he kept on him. “We’ll have guys off doing the training as well, but right now it's mostly Nate and then the rest of us help out as needed.”

“Take Nate off the schedule for now too, then,” Clay ordered. “How many will that leave able to stand watch?”

“If Greg Holloway helps, and we add in Tandi, then sixteen,” Jose did a quick count. “We've been running five or six people per shift, but I can switch that around some. Once the first class is finished where they can help with defense, we really won't need a heavy watch in day time. Towers and response should be enough. Even now I’ll still be around and Nate will too, so we could get by with just two of the towers and two on patrol.” He paused, thinking.

“We need something like an alert shack,” he said finally. “The response can get some shut eye when they aren't needed and still be ready to roll in just a minute with the ATV. I mean, we don't need a separate building or anything, we can just knock something together in Building Two, or even Number One. See what I mean?”

“Kinda like firemen or paramedics,” Clay nodded slowly. “I like it in theory. We’ll have to see what practice is like. At this point, maybe we should assign teams permanently and choose squad leaders? Or more like fire team leaders I suppose.”

“That will take a couple days or so, but it should be doable,” Jose agreed. “I’ll get on this right now.”

“Thanks.”

“What sergeants is for, sir,” Jose winked as he left.

***

He had known it was coming. It had to, sooner or later. Later would have been better but . . .

“Clayton, I need a word with you if you don't mind,” Franklin George's voice was deceptively soft.

“Sure thing, Mister George,” Clay smiled as he turned. “What can I do for you today?”

They were almost a week into the new plan. The smokehouse was almost finished and six head of cattle had already been separated from the herd and were even now being grain fed to help improve the quality of beef at slaughter. Once the smokehouse was finished they would hickory smoke the beef and then would come their first attempt at making new friends. Or remaking old ones. Whichever applied.

Franklin George had supervised the construction, doing the most meticulous of the work himself and going step-by-step to explain what he was doing to others, passing on his knowledge even as he worked. Someday the others would have to supervise, have to build for themselves, and they would need to know how.

During the construction Mister George had hinted at what he wanted to talk about, but had declined to do so in front of anyone else. There was still no doubt what was bothering the older man. Clay had not looked forward to the conversation.

At least it's not my parents, he sighed mentally.

“Clayton, those two women . . . they are setting a rather questionable example to the younger generation here on the farm,” Franklin said firmly. “Something is going to need to be done about that.”

“Which two women are we talking about, Mister George?” Clay asked innocently. “And what is it they're doing?”

“Clayton, don't play dumb,” Franklin gave him a disappointed look. “You know very well what I'm talking about. We can't foster that kind of lifestyle here. It's bad for the children and it's sinful as well. If we approve it then we endorse it. We can't do that.”

“I'm gonna need you to specify which sin it is we're talking about, Mister George,” Clay replied flatly. “There's a wide selection at the moment.”

“Clayton Sanders you know very well I'm talking about those two homosexuals,” Franklin stood up straighter. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Have they done something specific or is it just their presence that bothers you?” Clay asked, dropping the pretense.

“We cannot fo-,”

“Foster such a bad example,” Clay was nodding as he cut the older man off. “I got that. And which bad example are we talking about again? There are plenty of bad examples around here for the kids to pick up on, Mister George.” He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off a headache.

“Mister George, I know you don't like it,” he decided to try and finish this quickly. “I'm going out on a limb and figure most people on the farm don't 'approve' of their 'alternative lifestyle'. And yes, I know that the bible teaches against it. Learned that in church as a child and read it as an adult. I also read that I'm supposed to hate the sin and love the sinner.

“This is America, Mister George,” Clay reminded him. “We don't force people to live in ways they don't want so long as it isn't harmful to others. The two of them aren't hurting anyone. I haven't even seen a single PDA between them since they arrived. Whatever the physical part of their relationship is, they keep it to themselves. That's about all we can ask of them, to be honest.”

“I get that Trudy's attitude is a barn burner, but Gwen sort of makes up for it, seems to me.”

“Clayton, if we allow-”

“Mister George, you need to get rid of that word 'allow' in situations like this,” Clay stopped him with an upraised hand. “People got rights, Mister George. You don't gotta like it, but it's there nonetheless. Bad as it might offend you, they got the right to live their life, and to live it like they choose so long as they ain't hurting anyone else. And they ain't. And you don't have the right to not be offended, either.

“It's not like I 'approve' of same-sex anything myself,” Clay admitted. “But it ain't my business, Mister George. There's a thing called reciprocity. Means you get what you give, you know? If I want my rights, I have to give others theirs. Funny thing about taking rights away, Mister George. You allow one right to be taken and pretty soon someone decides it's okay to take another. And then another. And where does it stop, once it gets started?

“I've seen first hand where it stops,” Clay was grim, his face set. “It don't. Not short of violence the likes of which you can't imagine if you ain't seen it. I seen it. I fought it. This ain't no different from Reverend Nutworth and you wanting to restrict what people can hear. You want the kids to know that 'alternative lifestyles' are bad, then you got to teach them. And you got to be prepared for others to teach the opposite. Rights go both ways.”

“I can't believe you are all right with this,” Franklin replied. “Your parents-”

“Don't bring my parents into this,” Clay's voice was harsh suddenly. “And I never said I was 'okay' with the lifestyle. I ain't. Wouldn't never follow it myself. But guess what? They don't need my approval to live the way they aim to. Just like I don't need theirs. I can do as I please so long as I ain't causing anyone else any pain and Lainie says I can do it.” He added the last as a weak attempt at a joke.

“You start trying to impose on people's private lives, Mister George, and you're gonna open a door you can't close. Won't be long before we can't 'allow' certain races on the farm or in the area, can't 'allow' certain religions or lack thereof, certain other life choices and so on. We ain't going down that road, Mister George. If them two make a spectacle of themselves out in the public view then we’ll deal with that, just like we would with any other couple. Me and Lainie ain't behaving that way and no one else is that I know of.

“But what folks do in private it just that; private. Who folks pray to and why? Private. Who they bed down with at night in their homes? Private. If it doesn't directly impact our safety, then it ain't our business. Ain't mine, anyway,” he shrugged.

“How is it that every time I talk to you about something detrimental to the community, it devolves into you lecturing me about religion?” Franklin asked, almost as a challenge.

“Maybe because what you're trying to do always ends there, in my experience,” Clay replied easily. “Not to mention that you just used it try and justify 'not allowing' someone their right to live their way. It always starts with something that 'most' people don't like or want. Since 'most' people don't like it, it's easier to get rid of it or make it illegal. After that it starts again with something a little more popular, and grows from there. Sooner or later it always gets to religion, race or ethnicity, tribal or regional differences and so on. Every time, Mister George. We’ll see it here sooner or later you can be sure.

“But the thing is, Mister George? You can't legislate morality. You can't make a law to force people to be a certain religion or live a certain lifestyle. It doesn't work like that. You can drag someone up to the baptistry at the church building and force them under the water, but you know what? When they come up outta that water they ain't a bit more Christian than they was before you pushed 'em under. They're just wet, and probably mad.

“Things like that are a choice, Mister George,” Clay tried to end the discussion again. “A choice we all get to make for ourselves. We don't have to get approval from others for that choice, either. And that means we don't get to approve or disapprove of what choices that others make. The Sergeant Major in the last line battalion I was part of said something that has always stuck with me. He said 'I may not agree with your choice or decision, but I will fight to the death for your right to make it.' I don't think that was an original idea he had, but that doesn't negate what he said, either. That right to live your life? That's what this nation was founded on, Mister George. And so long as people living their lives ain't causing a problem for us or jeopardizing our safety, then I ain't got nothing to say on the subject in any kind of official way. I got the same right any of you do to decide I like or don't like it, but what I ain't got the right to do, what none of us have the right to do, is take that choice away.”

“That is a sin,” Franklin's voice grew firmer.

“So is adultery,” Clay shot back. “The two are mentioned side-by-side in the New Testament. What you gonna do is someone living in an adulterous marriage comes here to live? Make 'em divorce? For that matter, fornication is listed alongside the two. More than one couple here that ain't wed, Mister George. You aim to separate 'em? Good luck with that.”

“You're talking about entirely different things,” Franklin almost sputtered.

“No, I ain't,” Clay shook his head. “I got a New Testament I carried in more than fifteen countries over the years that tells me sin is sin in God's eyes. What?” he asked at the older man's raised eyebrows.

“You read the bible?”

“Mister George, a man in harm's way learns that God's Word is important to him,” Clay replied, fighting to not be offended at the remark. “Now unless you aim to straighten out every sin on this farm, and that's a tall order mind you, I suggest you get accustomed to having an 'alternative lifestyle' being present. So long as they work and contribute, and don't cause problems, there's no reason to make 'em go.”

Without another word, Franklin George turned on his heel and almost stalked away. Clay watched him go with a resigned sigh.

He knew this wouldn't be the last he heard about the subject.

***

“You're telling me that he decided it was better for us if he just . . . stayed away.”

Xavier Adair looked at Beverly Jackson with a stunned expression on his face.

“That's it,” Beverly nodded. “He had acted in vengeance, without thought to how it might affect the rest of you. Once his need for revenge was slaked, he realized that if someone discovered it had been him, and he had returned to live with all of you, then you would suffer for his actions just as he would. He refused to take that chance and walked a different path.”

“Never called, never wrote, never . . . anything,” Xavier's voice was soft, but was also bitter. Beverly was not accustomed to hearing anything like emotion from him and it almost made her frown before she could catch it.

“It was to keep anyone from connecting you to him,” Beverly nodded. “I have to tell you, and understand that this is something I'm inferring rather than something he actually said, I think he was considering returning until the image of him was plastered across the news services. At that point, he believed there was no path back. No way home,”

“No, I suppose not,” Xavier mused. “I have thought the same for myself over the years. How do I return to my old home and the people my family associated with? It was difficult enough pretending when I had not been able to exorcise my demons as yet. Afterward? No. The death toll would have been breathtaking,” he gave an aborted chuckle. Dark humor at its very best.

“Perhaps you share more in common than you initially realized,” Beverly offered.

“More than just DNA you mean?” Xavier asked with an impressively fake grin. “I should say so. Practically impossible for us not to, eh?”

“Yes,” Beverly nodded. “I think it surprised him that you asked me to mediate between you,” she forged ahead.

“I have no doubt,” Xavier snorted. “The last time we were in the same room, well other than during the introductions here, I did my utmost best to end his life.”

“So he said,” Beverly nodded slowly. She still could not make the connection between two men who were so obviously complete throwbacks with their cultured speech and obvious education. It was enough to shake the foundations that her own understanding of her profession were built upon. It made her uneasy in a way she couldn't quite identify and very much disliked.

“Well, we all fail at times,” Xavier waved his hand. It was as if he saw the failure as a normal part of life. As if he hadn't tried to kill his own brother.

“So we do,” she said automatically. “You already said you realize it will take a great deal of work for the two of you to repair the relationship between you. Do you see, at this point, that the repair is at least possible? Assuming the two of you can continue with this level of understanding?”

“I honestly cannot say,” Xavier shrugged. “I don't know what the buff . . . my brother is thinking concerning all this. Nor will he be able to discern my mind. Years of distrust cannot be undone so quickly. I can say that I am willing to continue, at least for now. His reasons are not without merit. Honestly I should have expected such an analytical decision from him,” he admitted suddenly. “Byron is extremely intelligent. Always was. Had I stopped to think, I would have realized that he would have examined his situation from every possible angle, at least once the deed was finished.”

“That is pretty much exactly as he described it,” Beverly nodded in agreement. “Perhaps the two of you have more in common than you first thought?”

“I've never questioned we had a great deal in common,” Xavier turned his dead-eye gaze on her. “That was never in doubt, Miss Jackson. I blamed him for the death of my mother. Our mother,” he corrected himself. “That alone is what drove my hatred. I did not concern myself with his actions other than how they affected my mother. I never did or will. I simply do not care, beyond that.”

“What about your father?” Beverly decided to try and change the subject in hopes of getting something she could use later on.

“My father was no better than Byron or myself,” Xavier replied flatly. “Well, in that he never pretended to be something other than what he was, he could be considered better than the both of us. Byron and I always tried very hard to pretend we were normal. My father never bothered.”

“Why did you?” Beverly asked. “If he was your example?”

“He wasn't my example,” Xavier shook his head slowly. “Nor Byron's either I should imagine. Our mother was.” She noted for once he didn't have to correct himself about 'our' mother.

“It was our mother who raised us, instilled in us the importance of proper behavior,” he continued. “My father rarely tried to do anything of the sort other than to insist on excellence. He didn't care what we did, just so long as we were the best at it. Nothing but the best for the Wentworth name.”

“The what?” Beverly asked, caught by surprise.

“Nothing,” Xavier smiled his false smile, bright as always and just as empty. “Nothing at all. Thank you for this time, Miss Jackson,” he stood. “I do wish to try and continue making these inroads in understanding between Byron and myself. I am sincerely appreciative of your help in this. There will possibly come a day or time when I can repay you for your services. When that time appears, I hope you will not hesitate to call upon me. It would be my pleasure to be able to render aid to you as you have to me.”

“Of course,” Beverly managed not to shiver as Xavier offered more or less to go psycho on someone on her behalf. She stood.

“Until next time?” she ventured.

“Quite.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“We all ready here?”

It had taken a week from start to finish to prepare the small convoy that would be trying to reach out to the people remaining in the area. There had been no small amount of discussion concerning what vehicles to take and who would make the trip. It had not been an easy argument and had not been settled in one sitting, either.

***

“Seems to me someone of us needs to be there,” Gordon said firmly. “Someone people know.”

“Someone people know has been eating regular you mean?” Leon growled. “Someone who has pulled their heads in and sat things out, so far as the rest can see? That kinda people?”

“I never advocated for sitting things out, as you call it,” Gordon's voice remained solid.

“No, that was me and Clay,” Leon acknowledged. “It was a good idea in theory, but in the long run has shown us its weakness. We can't do that over, Gordon, but it ain't no reason to be stupid now.” The Old Man leaned forward.

“We got to be smart,” he said to the people assembled before him. “We need to reach out and start making some friends, building a network of sorts. Should o' been doing it all along, but again, that's on me, and it's too late to change it. So, we gotta start from scratch, mostly, and try to make up for lost time. We ain't exactly been idle here, and we can prove it. We done also got rid of a lot of trouble, too. Some might not see it that way but others is smart enough to know it, I imagine. What we got to do is expand our influence. We need to gain territory and make it and the people in it safe. At least as safe as we can. This is a start to doing that.”

“So we become the Citizen's Committee?” Gordon asked, skeptical.

“No, hell no,” Leon would have sounded more indignant if he hadn't been short of breath. “We ain't gonna be takin' nothin' from nobody! We done already got Ronny and Robert laying out near on thirty more acres o' garden right now! We've got canned goods and smoked beef loaded and ready to travel. We're not gonna force nobody to do nothing. We're just gonna try and help 'em along, and then maybe we can build at least some kind of community back, at least here close by. Them people out there has still got to live here, too, ya know. They won't take no kinder to people stormin' in here stealing than we will. And if we're making life easier for 'em, well . . . time comes, they just might decide we're the side to be on. Ever little bit’ll he . . . help,” Leon's breath caught and he had to lay back in his chair, scrambling for his mask. Janice Hardy was ready for that and helped him get it on, watching in concern as Leon gulped in air.

“I still think it should be one of us,” Gordon wasn't convinced.

“All due respect, Mister Sanders, this ain't the time for it,” Shane Golden said quietly. “You let who's doing the helping out be a secret for a while, build a little good will, and then let people know it was you when it will help the most. It’ll be hard for anyone to raise a fuss against you when they discover that it's you that's been helping them out all along. Sure, a few will still try, they always do no matter where you are. But people all over the world remember two things; who feeds 'em, and who protects 'em. People are still people no matter where you are.”

“You're awfully confident that you can protect this area,” Gordon mused.

“Not the area, just the people in it,” Shane shook his head. “This isn't an occupation. People can live just fine on their own without supervision. We've had an idea of doing patrols every so often to let people see us, and be able to flag us down and report something that needs our attention, things like that. We're still working on it to be honest, but we’ll come up with something that will work. We've used it before in more than one place.”

“Eventually we’ll have to let the cat out that we're responsible for the food and the patrols,” Clay took up the argument. “People will need a place to run to for help if we're not in the area. We've taken a lot of vehicles that we won't use, so we can spread them out if nothing else. Maybe offer to plow garden plots for people this year, even. It's late, but not too late for at least some things. There's any number of things that can be done to attract good will. Letting them get used to it before finding out it's us will hopefully remove some of the ill feelings people may have toward us, if there are any. I'm sure there will be some, if for no other reason than we're in much better shape than most if not all the surrounding area.”

“This will also give you an opportunity to evaluate people that might be good candidates for joining you here,” Brick noted. Xavier had not made the trip to Leon's house as he and his brother were not 'there yet', as both put it. Brick would not stray down to where Xavier lived and Xavier in return would avoid Leon's.

“More people here?” Gordon didn't seem to like that idea.

“Useful people,” Clay corrected. “Not just mouths to feed, but people who can be of real use. People with skills we need or people who can and will fight. People who aren't afraid of a little hard work or a little trouble if it means staying fed and cared for. Most people want to work for what they get. Not have it handed to them. We’ll find them, and give them a chance if we can use them here.”

“What if we can't?” his father asked.

“Then we’ll help them as and when we can,” Clay shrugged. “We've got too few berths here as it is to waste any. We’ll do the best we can, Dad. It's all we can do.”

***

“Everybody has the plan down?” Clay looked at the assembled group.

It had been a difficult decision. The three vehicle convoy consisted of the unpainted six-wheel Cougar, one armored Hummer, and the military looking school bus brought by Shane's group. Kurtis had made a few jokes about 'eviction notices' as he emptied his gear from the bus that had been his home for a month. He moved up on the hill and took a room at the finished Bunkhouse. He wasn't much older than the rest of the occupants and got along well with all of them.

Shane would be leading the convoy. The idea was to prevent others from seeing anyone that they would associate with the Sanders' family, at least for now. So it would be Shane and Stacey in the Hummer with Zach on the gun, Virgil Wilcox driving the bus with Tandi riding shotgun as their medic, then Xavier, Sienna Newell and Titus Terry in the Cougar, with Newell at the wheel. A Mk 19 was mounted on the Cougar while a BMG was mounted on the Hummer.

“We got it,” Shane nodded. “It’ll work out, Boss,” he added.

“Be careful,” Clay warned. “We need to make friends but not at the cost of any of you. If you have trouble, then run for it.”

“Of course,” Xavier nodded happily, his face clearly indicating he would oppose any such running if it deprived him of  . . .

“Remember what I said, X,” Clay's voice cut Xavier's thoughts away.

“You wound me, Lieutenant,” Xavier actually clutched his heart dramatically. Or tried to.

“Wrong side,” Tandi stage whispered.

“You know, he might not have realized that,” Xavier told the small medic. “Perhaps next time allow him to wallow in his ignorance?”

“What about your ignorance?” Stacey Pryor asked as they all headed for their respective vehicles.

“Please,” Xavier scoffed. “Do you really think I don't know how to find the heart?”

“All right, knock that shit off,” Shane's voice filled everyone's ear. “Com check. Rattler is green, Hummer is green.”

“Willy is green, ODB is green,” Wilcox reported. ODB stood for Olive Drab Banana, a name that had stuck to the formerly yellow school bus like glue, much to the youngsters delight as they compared it to a rap artist. (This much to the older people's chagrin, of course.) The bus was also informally known as 'Odie'.

“Grey Ghost is green, Copper is green,” Newell was next. Whether Copper was for her hair or the fact she had been an MP, it was another almost automatic call sign, and she loved it. She had expected something overtly sexual and had been pleasantly surprised that the former commandos didn't think in those terms about people they worked with. Such was not the case among her previous co-workers, sadly.

“Move out,” Shane ordered. The Hummer started forward, the bus sliding into place and finally the Cougar, Xavier throwing Clay a perfect salute from the gun tub. Clay returned it, unable to keep from laughing.

“Idiot.”

***

“Okay, Stace,” Shane was talking even as he checked the map once more, more from habit than need. “It's down the freeway to the next exit and then over and up.”

“Got it,” Stacey nodded, knowing that Shane knew that Stacey already knew that. Shane didn't like responsibility. He tended to double and triple and quadruple check everything. His teammates cut him some slack over it, knowing why he did it.

“Head on a swivel up there, kid!” Shane called out to Zach, who replied with a double thud on the roof of the Hummer. This wasn't his first trip into the wild, either.

“Well, let’s go see who's at home, then.”

***

“It's wrong to let her be around those children, Leon.”

Leon Sanders looked at Malitha George with barely restrained anger. 'Barely' in this case meaning he had managed not to lash out.

“Why is that, Malitha?” he asked instead. “What has she done?”

“She's a deviant!” Malitha exclaimed. “She's no right to be there! Franklin already spoke to Clayton about it and Clay apparently approves of it!” she sounded scandalized.

“Malitha, is that what Clay actually said?” Leon asked, his voice deceptively mild.

“He said it wasn't his business what they did in private,” she admitted.

“And it ain't,” Leon nodded firmly. “Ain't yours, neither. I get you don't like the fact that them two are homosexuals, but that's your issue. The two ain't done nothing wrong, and both are working hard. They may not like what they're doing, but they're still doing whatever job they're given. Now has that . . . Trudy? . . . done anything to the children? Has she harmed any of them? Any way at all?”

“Leon, that is hardly the point!” she replied instead of answering. “She's simply not the kind of person we need or want around our young people!”

“Why?”

“What do you mean 'why'?” she almost stood up.

“I mean you need more of a reason than just 'we don't want her',” Leon told her flatly. “What has she done to indicate she's unfit to be around them kids. And don't bother with her being a 'deviant', neither. I been keeping an eye on this, and her and her . . . girlfriend, ain't done a damn thing to be called down on. The little fat one . . . that's Trudy, right? She's got a mouth-and-a-half on her and that ain't no lie or trash talking but otherwise she ain't done nothing outta line. Now, you want her not working at that orphanage, I need something other than you don't like her life choices.” He sat back, cursing his old age. Damned lungs. Heart. Legs. Traitorous bastards all.

“I simply cannot believe that you of all people would condone-,”

“Allowin' folks to live as they damn well please so long as it don't hurt nobody else?” Leon interrupted. “Now what about me that you know indicated that? You should know that the one thing I won't never bitch about is people not buttin' into my business. And I try to return that favor. Until and unless their . . . lifestyle, becomes a problem, and by that I mean an actual problem they're inflicting on us personally, then what they get up to out of sight of the rest of us is up to them, I reckon. Meanwhile, if she ain't somehow a threat to them kids, she stays. We need the help, and right now them women at the orphanage is more of a guaranteed threat than she is. Her or her girlfriend. So she's gonna work there while them four try and earn a spot around here. We need ever hand, Malitha. Things is hard and ain't gonna but get harder. Stop addin' to that by makin' believe that things is still normal. They ain't.”

“You know this is wrong, Leon Sanders,” Malitha stood. “Even a heathen like you knows it.”

“Heathen?” Leon couldn't stop the shock from showing on his face. “Did you seriously just call me a heathen in my own damn house?”

“I apologize,” a chastened Malitha seemed to suddenly realize what she had done. “I meant that-,”

“I don't give a shit what you meant!” Leon was on the verge of shouting. “I am by God in my own house, the house that Elizabeth, angels sing her name in heaven, and I built and raised our children in! And you think you’ll just walk in here and call me a heathen in front of my own hearth?”

“Leon, I already said-”

“Get out!” Leon was on his feet, shaking in rage. “Get outta my house this instant!”

“Mister Leon what are you-,” Janice Hardy had run to the living room when she heard Leon shouting. “Mister Leon!” her concern came through her voice. “Mister Leon your face is too red and your lips are almost blue! Now you sit down and you put your mask on. This is bad!” She turned to look at Malitha George.

“I’ll have to ask that you go,” she said stiffly. “I think you've done quite enough damage today.” Without waiting for an answer she turned her attention back to Leon, helping him settle into his chair once more after getting the oxygen mask back around his head.

“Easy, Mister Leon,” she soothed. “It's okay. Just try to breathe that oxygen in deep, okay?”

Malitha George's last view of Leon Sanders was a malevolent glare coming over the top of his oxygen mask.

It frightened her.

***

“You know, most people will hide from a convoy like this,” Stacey said as he navigated the small back road that Zach assured them would end up in Jordan town.

“Well, our ultimate goal is to reach that church house and see about them people there,” Shane shrugged a little. “Maybe they won't run, at least.”

“May not be all that friendly, either,” Stacey reminded him. “Just a little something to keep in mind, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Shane sighed. “Welcome to Post Apocalypse America, huh?”

“Movement ahead, on the right,” Zach cut their discussion short. “I can see at least two little kids and an adult or older teen. And they aren't running.”

“All units, approaching civilians,” Shane radioed. “Be watchful on the surround. We are not in friendly territory here.”

“ODB copies.”

“Ghost copies.”

“Ease us to a stop, Edge,” he ordered Stacey.

“Coming up,” the driver nodded, slowing.

In seconds the trio came into view. A ragged woman with two equally ragged children. Forgotten back here on this small secondary road. Shane slowly opened the door and stepped out, conscious that the mask he was wearing was not conducive to good relations. But showing his face was out for the moment.

“Ma'am,” he nodded respectfully, not moving from the open door.

“What you want?” the woman asked tiredly. “We ain't got nothin' worth takin', but you're welcome to look,” she shrugged.

“Ma'am, we ain't here to take anything,” Shane assured her. “Fact is we're here to help a little, assuming we can. We can provide you a bit of food, ma'am, if you want. Do you have clean water?”

“Food?” the little boy at her side asked before she could speak. The little girl, a bit smaller than him, looked so hopeful that Shane thought he would cry.

“What you want for it?” the woman asked suspiciously.

“Nothing, Ma'am,” Shane tried to assure her. “It's just . . . what we can do, that's all. We have a medic with us as well if any of you are injured. I don't know that he can help, but he will try. If you'd be willing to step over to the bus, he can come down and have a look. And that's where the food is. It's not much, mind, but it's good, at least.”

The woman looked at him, clearly torn. She wanted to believe, that was apparent. Suddenly a look of resignation fell on her.

“Sure,” she said softly. “Ain't like we can stop you doin' whatever you want, anyway.”

“We only want to help, Ma'am,” Shane promised. “I know you probably don't believe that and I honestly have no way to prove it to you other than to actually do it. Step this way, please,” he motioned toward the bus with one arm while holding the other out to her.

***

Dottie Greer had somehow managed to keep her and her children alive through the winter, but it had been both tedious and terrifying. She had thanked her deceased mother and long departed grandmother a thousand times for instilling the need in her to have a garden and grow her own food. To can, dry and store that food deep against hard times. She had done it out of habit more than need but . . . when there came a need, she was able to meet it if only barely. It might have been boring, but it had also been lifesaving.

But things were thin and getting worse. She had planted again this year, doing the work by hand and using all of the seeds she had left. Where she would get more she didn't know, and would have to try and dry and save seeds from what she could harvest. Assuming she got a harvest.

She had watched with her children as the smoke from a huge fire had grown worse and worse, unable to do anything other than pray. She had drawn water from her well and filled every container, ready to douse her roof with it as the fire approached in hopes it would protect her home.

But her prayers were answered it seemed when a gentle rain settled in as the fire looked to be coming her way. A soaking rain that had wet the material ahead of the fire as well as blunting the flames themselves. By that miracle of rainfall, her home and the lives of her children had been spared.

Her husband, James, had been gone when the sky lights had come. She had heard the warning on the radio and so had prepared as well as she could, but . . . she knew there was no point in trying to travel anywhere. The whole world would be panicking and all she would be doing was placing herself and her children in the middle of it. That she would not do.

So she had done the best she could, gathering everything possible in the short time she was given. When her car wouldn't start the day after she had cried softly, out of sight and sound of her children to avoid frightening them. When the car had failed to even light up, she knew that her husband, a long-distance truck driver, would not be coming home any time soon. He had been out west on a two week circuit, and she had no way of knowing where he would be. She had been unable even to call him since as soon as the news had broken all she could get over the phone was an 'all circuits are busy' message.

The winter had been hard. Harder than she had imagined. She had fully expected things to return to normal in no more than two weeks, yet a month passed with no change. She was able to heat their home due to the wood stove they used to supplement their propane. After that month she had stopped using the propane heater and would only use the stove every three or four days, cooking multiple meals and then storing them in her carport in airtight containers to keep them from spoiling. Then she had stopped even that, saving the half tank of propane against emergencies and cooking atop her wooden stove. She silently thanked her husband's penchant for hard work and the massive pile of firewood in their small barn's side shed. She burned only what she needed to, she and her children spending the coldest times wearing warmer clothing and staying under blankets as much as possible.

Her children had been difficult at first, wanting television and movie discs and other conveniences that she could no longer give them, but gradually the two had realized that the hardships they were enduring were not going to go away. Adaptable as children always seemed to be, the two had changed with the times, working to help their mother and playing games that didn't require electricity or batteries. They worked hard during the day so that at night they would be tired and sleep while it was dark, all of them bundled up on a mattress in the floor near the stove. Lamp oil, candles and flashlight batteries were too precious to waste on just having light for the sake of light, so when darkness came they went to bed and when light returned, they were up and ready to go again.

They had endured the winter like that, Dottie stretching her stored food further and further as time went on. That had been a smart move on her part and though they had been hungry, they hadn't starved. She wondered silently how many had done just that, starving as the stores ran dry. She would again give silent thanks for the lessons drilled into her by her mother and grandmother. Without them, her children would be dead.

As spring had approached she had hoped things would be better, not stopping to think that spring would bring blooms but not food. Though she had managed to gather some berries and a few apples, many of the places she would have done so had no doubt been burned and would be a half-day or better walk even without two small children. She would have to make do with what she could find, little thought it was.

She and her children had been outside in a rare moment of inactivity, her taking the time to spend with them and play, when she heard the sound of engines. It had been so quiet for so long, and the noise so foreign to her now, that she had missed it at first and then, when she did hear it, hadn't realized what it was. Seeing the military vehicles come into view, she had taken her children by the shoulder, watching.

There was no point in running, nor in grabbing her husband's rifle. She was under no illusion as to what she could do against such a threat. Better to try and placate than to risk the lives of her children.

She had watched the three vehicles approaching, alarmed at the machine gun atop the truck in front and the black dressed, masked man behind it. Tensing as the vehicles slowed and then stopped with the lead vehicle right before her, she barely noticed that the big gun didn't swing her way but instead stayed pointed forward. It wasn't as if a woman and two kids were a threat, right?

She gripped her children slightly tighter as a man wearing the same horrible mask stepped slowly down from the truck, carefully standing to the side. Whatever was going to happen would happen now, wouldn't it. She would see what that was.

But she hadn't been prepared for this.

“Ma'am.”

***

“Well, you seem to be okay if a little short,” Tandi winked as he gave the two children three pieces of candy each. Both took them at once, but then each took one and offered it to their mother. Tandi thought the woman would cry but she took them, lest she offend her little angels. He carefully took another six pieces of the rock candy and slipped them to her where the kids couldn't see it.

“Where did you come from?” Dottie asked Shane while Tandi looked over her children. “What's happening in the world? Are the lights going to come back on?”

“I'm not from around here, Ma'am,” Shane replied to her first question more or less truthfully. “And I really don't know what all is going on around the world to be honest. Since the lights went out there hasn't been any real news. As far as the lights go . . . I don't think so, Ma'am. Not for a long time, anyway. The damage was likely too great.”

“I assumed as much,” Dottie sighed. “I figured if they were coming back it would have been done by now.”

“I'm afraid you're right,” Shane nodded. “We've tried to help where and how we can, that's all we can do. It's not much, but we thought every little bit would help.”

He had told Wilcox to assemble a small box of cans for the woman and children, three cans of veggies apiece and one each of fruits, as well as a generous selection of smoked beef. It was more than the plan called for, but this woman and her children had survived alone and with no contact all winter. A little extra wasn't going to hurt anything in the long run. And no one in the group cared if it did, anyway.

“I’ll carry this for you,” Shane said as Wilcox brought the supplies forward.

“Beef,” Wilcox explained as the woman studied the meat. “Don't worry, it's smoked so it will keep. Again, it isn't a lot, but. .  . .”

“It's more than we've had in a good while,” Dottie almost whispered. “Fortunately I had finished canning and we had enough to get through, but things have gotten thin of late. Likely to stay that way until my garden comes in.”

“Is there anything we can do for you while we're here, Ma'am?” Shane asked. “Work wise I mean?”

“Not unless you have time to cut and split wood for next winter,” she chuckled. “Well, hopefully for the winter after next. My husband left enough that I think we’ll make it through next winter. We’ll see.”

“We can't do that today,” Shane agreed. “It's possible we can do something about it later on, though. If we can, we will,” he promised. He set the box on her steps and looked at her.

“I wish there was more we could do,” he said earnestly. “Hopefully there will be more we can do. We're just starting out, so we have to see what can be done at all, if that makes sense. We do have some limited support, but it's very limited at the moment so all we can do is what we can do. We’ll try and be back this way soon, but I can't tell you just how long that will be. I just don't know,” he admitted.

“I . . . it's been so long since we've seen anyone else I had wondered if we were all that was left,” she said suddenly. “I don't remember how long ago it was that I last spoke to another person other than my children. That alone was a great gift,” she wiped a sudden tear away. She hadn't allowed herself to cry much since this had started and she wasn't going to start now, either.

“I understand, Ma'am,” Shane nodded. “I'm sorry we can't stay a bit longer, but we have a long way to go as yet. We will see you again, however, Lord willing and the natives don't rise.”

“I look forward to it,” Dottie replied honestly. “More than you can imagine.”

***

“Man, that sucked,” Stacey said as they returned to the road.

“Yep,” Shane was more taciturn than usual.

“She's had a rough time it seemed like,” Stacey continued.

“Yep.”

“You all right, man?” Stacey was concerned about his friend.

“Peachy.”

“It ain't our fault, Rat,” Stacey said softly. “We didn't do this.”

“That makes it all better, don't it,” Shane was looking out the window.

“No, but it should make you realize that your guilt is misplaced,” Stacey said. “You aren't to blame. Nature did this, brother. If the eggheads was right, this was going to happen sooner or later. It just happened in our time, that's all.”

“Yeah,” Shane nodded slowly. “That's all.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Leon, if you don't stop this kind of thing, you're going to end up in the clinic,” Patricia scolded lightly as she finished listening to his lungs. “Your lungs are rattling a bit. Have you been coughing more?” she asked him.

“Yes, he has,” Janice Hardy answered for him, ignoring the Old Man's glare at what he considered a betrayal. “And coughing up . . . stuff,” she wrinkled her nose.

“Phlegm you mean?” Patricia asked, growing more concerned.

“Yes, that's it,” Janice nodded firmly.

“What color was it?” Patricia asked.

“White or clear,” the girl replied at once.

“Always?”

“Yes,” Janice was rock solid in her answer. “If it had been green or yellow I would have called you,” she promised.

“Good girl,” Patricia patted her shoulder. “Leon, I'm not sure what's causing this other than sinus congestion with everything coming into bloom. I'm not going to give you a cough suppressant because coughing it up is the best way to get rid of the congestion. I want you to take it easy for the next five days. That means no wandering and no visitors, either. You need some quiet time to let this run out. What had you so upset, anyway?”

“Damn Malitha George came into my house and called me a damned heathen!” Leon hissed, still infuriated.

“What brought that on for goodness sake?” Patricia was all but stunned.

“She don't like it ‘cause that little heavy woman is working at the orphanage,” he replied.

“Little . . . Trudy?” Patricia asked.

“Malitha feels that allowing such a deviant to take care of children is somehow gonna scar them for life or some . . . shit,” Leon waved his hand to note the irrelevancy. “Wanted me to move her somewhere else. Not because she did nothing wrong, but just ‘cause she's a homosexual.”

“Well, that's illegal,” Patricia said at once. “Or was before everything crashed, anyway,” she added. “I'm surprised at her, being so judgmental as that. Aren't we supposed to be loving and kind, even to those outside the Body?” She was talking about the Body of Christ, the church. It was a teaching that all Sanders tried to live by. Well, mostly.

“That's what I recollect,” Leon nodded. “To call me a heathen in the very house that Elizabeth, God remember her always, and I brought Gordon and his siblings up in? In the house that as Godly a woman as ever lived raised and taught her children? And me, for that matter,” he added softly. “Was she a man I'd have killed her,” he all but growled. Janice frowned at that but said nothing. She'd never seen Mister Leon like this.

“Franklin apparently went to see Clayton about it, and got shut down, so she marched over here aiming for me to do it instead,” Leon continued. “I done made it as plain as I can that Clayton is taking the lead around here. Everybody has got their own areas to take care of. You with the clinic, Gordon with the farm, and so on. Clayton manages this outfit. Pretty soon he’ll have to do it without me, so people may as well get used to that. Boy led men in battle, so I reckon he should be able to run this place. Don't you think?” he looked up at his grand-daughter-in-law.

“I imagine,” she smiled faintly. “You can expect some flack and push back against it from some, I'm sure, but no one at the other farm is going to object and I doubt many on the Hill will, either, Georges aside. I know Gordon and Angela weren't happy about it, the lesbian couple I mean, but they've not said anything in my hearing. Don't know about any others, though I'd expect it to be the older set that gives the most trouble with something like those two women being a couple. Come to think on it, you seem awful open minded, coming from a time when it was so unpopular, for lack of a better word.”

“Man that wants people to stay out of his business learns to stay out of others business,” Leon told her. “And when I hate folks, I do it for good reasons that affect me or my family. Can't think of a single way them two and their . . . business, is affecting my family. Can you?”

“No sir, I can't,” Patricia admitted. “It's a sin, but far from the only one around here. And we're taught to hate the sin, not the sinner. You don't win people over to the Gospel with hate or force. I've been taught that all my life.”

“And rightly so,” Leon nodded firmly. “Callin' me a heathen,” he muttered to himself. He had not been able to release his anger at that.

“You're not a heathen, Old Man,” Patricia patted his thigh lightly. “Crass, objectionable, hard to get along with, a bit-,”

“You can quit any time, now,” Leon raised an eyebrow at her and she laughed.

“Leon, you are in no way, shape nor form a heathen. And no one in this family would think otherwise,” she stood. “You may not be a paragon of Christian virtue, but that's a far cry from being a pagan or atheist. And you hide a lot of good will and benevolence behind that irascible exterior, too.”

“Pah!” Leon waved her compliment away as if would stick to him. “Stop trying to butter me up! I’ll mind your instructions and sit here quietly. Means I’ll need Brick back, though,” he told her. “Have Clayton send him home, you don't mind. I need someone to block my door or I won't get a minute o' respite.”

“Doctor's orders,” Patricia nodded, taking her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. “I’ll tell him as soon as I'm back. And Leon, for the love of God, if you start to feel worse, call for me. Day or night, I don't care. If the Lord just takes you, that's one thing. You trying to grease the skids is another. Clay has a lot on him already. Please don't make things harder on him any sooner than need be.”

“I've already had that lecture, thank you,” Leon snorted. “And it ain't like I'm just trying to die, ya know!”

“No, you just don't care one way or another if you do,” Patricia replied softly. “But the rest of us do, Old Man. I can't make you, but I can ask you; if for no other reason than to give Clay time, please take better care of yourself or at least let Janice do it. Please.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll mind it,” Leon waved at her as he settled back into his chair. “I will!” he added when she looked at him dubiously.

“Try to take care of him,” Patricia told Janice as they walked to the door. “I’ll ask Clay to excuse you from radio duty the next couple of days so you can stay with him. Unless you'd rather someone else take care of him?”

“No,” Janice shook her head and her voice was firm. “No. I will take care of him. Thank you for talking to Mister Clay for me. If he needs me to come work the radio room I'm sure Mrs. Jones can look after him in my absence.”

“I'd rather you did it,” Patricia confided. “I’ll make sure Clay knows that,” she smiled.

“Thank you, Miss Patricia.”

***

After leaving the Greer place the small convoy didn't encounter another soul until the edge of Jordan. Both Shane and Stacey expressed surprise at that, but Zach was more familiar with the area.

“Most of this is either pulp woods or the back of the park,” he told them. “Ain't a handful of houses we passed, and most look abandoned. There just ain't much back this way except fire trails. Great for drinking beer and running off-road, but that's about it.”

“Speaking from experience, kid?” Stacey asked.

“Yup,” Zach grinned into his mask as he answered. He was still on the gun and speaking over the radio.

“Okay. We're easing into Jordan, now,” Zach turned serious. “Damn. Looks like the fire made it part of the way, anyhow,” he added as they passed three burned out houses, a stone and brick chimney still standing at one place.

“It's sporadic now, though,” Shane mentioned. “See, there are two more houses that are still standing.”

“And another down on the right,” Zach agreed. “Maybe some of them got into gear and fought. I know the Old Man made sure the fire department had warning, just like the cops did. And at least one truck was rigged right 'cause we took it to fight the fire with. Didn't get it running in time for much but it did save the big barn in the nick of time.”

“I still don't see nobody,” Stacey mentioned, getting the discussion back on track.

“Ain't a big town to start with,” Zach mentioned. “Wasn't I guess I should say.”

“Still, should be somebody, right?”

“Well, would you be out in the open when a Hummer with a machine gun came rolling into view?” Zach asked.

“Point,” Stacey conceded. “What do we do?” he asked Shane.

“We go to this church they were talking about, I guess,” was the reply. “Nothing else for it. Zach?”

“We’ll hit the main road in about two miles,” Zach replied. “Turn right. We’ll be about another two miles out, but you won't have to make another turn. We’ll hit the church about two miles down, on the right. The parking lot used to be big enough to maneuver in but . . . been a while since I seen it. Might be better not to pull in and let someone come to us. If we have to run, head straight out on down the highway. There's plenty of places we can cross over and turn back toward home if we have to. Better than trying to turn around in the road. Last time I was there it was pretty closed in.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Shane agreed and keyed the vehicle radio.

“All units, this is Hummer. We're going to hit a main road in about three-and-a-half clicks. We’ll turn right and move about another four clicks to the church. We will not be leaving the road. Maintain intervals and allow anyone who's still there to come to us. In the event we have to bug out, we will make a straight run ahead and double back on better ground to get clear. All units, acknowledge.”

“Odie copies all.”

“Ghost copies. Understood.”

“Well, let’s go to church,” Shane said as he pulled his rifle back up.

***

“Heathen?” Clay frowned, clearly shocked at what he heard.

“I know,” Patricia grimaced. “Leon damn near had a stroke, and I'm in no way exaggerating. I've ordered him to stay grounded and quiet for five days, hoping that he can recover. He's got the very beginning of a bronchial infection which can turn to pneumonia just like that,” she snapped her fingers. “And Clay, if Leon develops pneumonia, that . . . that might be it,” she acted as if saying it would make it so.

“What do you need me to do?” Clay asked at once.

“Send Brick home to guard the door,” Patricia replied. “Leon asked for him. Also, I need you to cover for Janice so she can take care of him. Marla is up there but . . . I hate to say this, but she's not the most dependable, and she gives Leon too much hell as it is. And right now that's no good. He has got to have some peace and work on his breathing.”

“I’ll make that happen right now,” Clay promised, reaching for his radio. “Anything else?”

“I think someone is going to have to eventually speak to Malitha, and that means to Franklin. Ideally it would be Gordon, but I'm shocked he and Angela haven't already been at either Leon or you about-,”

“Clayton, I need to talk to you!” Angela Sanders' voice cut into the conversation.

“You were saying?” Clay raised an eyebrow at his sister-in-law. “Let me have Corey find Brick and take him home. I’ll see Robert or Deuce about the schedule. With Millie and now Gwen working there, we should be able to cover it fine.”

“Thanks,” Patricia smiled, patting his shoulder. “Good luck.”

“Right,” Clay snorted. Raising a hand to stop his mother's next outburst, he used his radio to order Corey, who was riding the ATV almost as a gopher now that his arm was all but healed, to locate Brick and take him home. When he was done, he looked at his mother.

“I'm almost afraid to ask, but what is it now?”

***

“Well, there are definitely people,” Stacey sounded apprehensive.

“Yeah,” Shane almost muttered. He slowed as they approached the church.

“Several guns in that crowd,” Shane heard Zach say, followed by him racking a round into the big Browning.

“Easy there, Gunner,” Shane urged. “Man's got a right to own a gun.”

“Agree completely,” Zach replied. “Just rather they not be pointed at me.”

“Hang back just a little, guys,” Shane ordered the trailing vehicles. “This don't look all that good, to be honest. Better we're not bunched up. Stay alert.”

“Odie copies.”

“Ghost copies.”

“See anybody you know, Zach?” Shane asked.

“Not at the moment, but I also ain't supposed to let anyone know who I am,” the teen replied. “Has that changed?”

“No,” Shane said definitely. “Just wanted your input into anyone you recognized. Troublemakers, peacemakers, that sort of thing.”

“At this point I'd be afraid to use what I used to know about anyone,” Zach admitted. “Lot has changed in the last few months.”

“Very true,” Shane acknowledged. “But a troublemaker tends to stay that way, so be watchful, yeah?”

“Copy that.”

“Stop us at the drive so I can stay with the door when I'm talking,” Shane ordered Stacey.

“Got it.” The big Hummer began to slow, creeping up to the point where the driveway into the church parking lot hit the highway. Shane took a deep breath and opened the door, stepping down onto the asphalt. People were already surging toward them.

“Hold on there!” he ordered through the vehicle P.A. system. “Everybody just calm down a little, there!”

“Who are you?”

“Where did you come from?”

“Are you here to turn the lights back on?”

“What will you do about all the homes we lost in the fire?”

“You're from the government, right? What's going on?”

“I need you to find my husband!”

“-Wife”

“-Daughter”

The questions were as rapid fire as an automatic rifle and Shane nearly drew back in the face of so many demands. So much desperation.

“Is anyone in charge here?” he tried again, but the crowd was now surging forward again.

“Siren,” he said to Stacey, who hit a button on the console. Instantly it sounded as if a Banshee was wailing across the small town as the unique siren screamed at the people in the church yard. The sound stunted the surge as people began to back away. Shane waited for the sound to die away before trying again.

“Is anyone in charge around here?” he asked once more. “My information said there was a preacher here at once point trying to keep things together? A Reverend Williams?”

“He ain't here no more,” a dirty individual with a Ruger Mini-14 informed him. He was a little more than average build, and didn't show any signs of doing without over the winter. That alone was suspicious to Shane. His most notable feature was a missing tooth right in the front of his mouth. The man was in the front of the surging crowd, and most of those around him seemed to be afraid of him to some degree.

“Now why are you here? Are you here to help or not?” he demanded. Shane noticed that when he talked, there was a slight whistling sound through the hole where the missing tooth should have been.

“Cloyd Greevy,” Zach's soft voice entered Shane's ear. “Definitely a trouble maker.”

“You're Mister Greevy, correct?” Shane used the information to his advantage and saw the man's eyes widen. “Word is you like doing things your own way. Right?”

“Who said that?” Greevy looked around the group as if he'd been somehow betrayed.

“I did,” Shane told him. “Don't look at them, look at me. When I asked for the Reverend you were the first one to speak up and let me know he wasn't here anymore. So tell me, just for my own personal information, where he went.”

“I ain't gotta tell you nothin'!” was the belligerent reply. “Now you need to start answering some questions!”

“If that's going to be your attitude then we’ll have to go,” Shane affected disappointment. “I'm sorry folks, but this man's attitude is just too much. We’ll try again to help you the next time we're through here. Until then, enjoy Mister Greevy's leadership.” Shane turned as if he were going to leave.

“Hey you!” Greevy all but screamed. “You get back here!” He managed two steps forward before a single round from the huge machine gun slammed into the asphalt in front of him, throwing black top everywhere.

“That's about enough of that,” Zach tried to deepen his voice and talk without an accent. He didn't speak further as he racked another round into the big gun. He had left one link empty so he could do that. Next time it would be more than one round, but he was pretty sure he had made his point.

“My associates are protective of me, Mister Greevy,” Shane said. “Now, I will try once more before we go; I want to speak to the Reverend Williams. That's who I was told had been trying to organize relief efforts here. Simply saying 'he ain't here no more' will not do. I want to know where he is.”

There was another surge through the crowd at that as people among the group began to talk. An older man, thin and gaunt, leaning on a cane, stepped forward.

“Damn Greevy killed him when Williams wouldn't let him decide who got food and who didn't,” the old man declared. “That's where he is.”

“You watch your fool old mouth, Clem Pickett, you know what's good for you!” Greevy almost screamed. He lifted the rifle to his shoulder as he spoke but before he could shoot a three round burst of fire rattled off and Greevy fell to the ground, screaming as he clutched first one leg and then the other.

“Damn. That looks like it’ll hurt,” Shane mused as he walked forward and took the Ruger from where it had fallen near Greevy. He nodded his thanks to Zach, who had pulled his rifle up into the turret to deal with Greevy, knowing that his machine gun would walk across too many innocent people. He hoped they were innocent at any rate.

“Now,” Shane looked at the crowd again. “Reverend Williams is gone, and Mister Greevy is no longer in charge. Is there anyone here who all of you recognize as someone who can keep things together and going?”

He waited as the group began to talk among themselves. Greevy continued to scream as he lay on the ground, but was ignored as merely a nuisance. Shane began to hear Clem Pickett's name mentioned more and more, possibly because he had the stones to step up when it mattered. He could see the older man's frown as he could hear his name being tossed around and did not appear to like it.

“I come up here to play checks with my friends,” Pickett told Shane. “No way do I want any kind of responsibility for this mob. I'm going home.”

“How many people in this group do you estimate don't live here at the church besides you?” Shane asked him.

“I dunno,” Pickett shrugged. “Probably a bit over half? That's just a guess. We lost some houses in the fire but managed to stop the fire from getting into town. For all the good it did,” he snorted.

“Well, maybe you could be the new mayor?” Shane asked him.

“Why in the fires o' hell would I want that?” Pickett looked aghast.

“Well, I just thought you might like to help get this place back on its feet,” Shane shrugged. “Wasn't but a thought. Sorry.”

“What do you mean by back on its feet?” Pickett nibbled at the bait. He couldn't see a hook anywhere. “You aim to turn the power back on?”

“You know no one can do that,” Shane said easily. “We may get power back one day, but for now that's just not possible. No, I mean get it back into some form of productivity. There's no help coming Mister Pickett, aside from what help groups like ours can supply. Today it's a little food and some information gathering. What your needs are and whether or not we can meet them. We want to try and get Jordan and other places like it back to where they support the people living there. Primarily with food and clean water, shelter and other basic needs. We have limited means, but we're using them as best we can. The answer to survival is to gear up and do it yourself. If you wait for someone else to do it you're in for a long wait.”

“And yet here you are,” Pickett replied, appraising Shane carefully.

“For a minute or so, and then moving on,” Shane nodded, grinning behind his mask. This old fella was sharp. “You guys have to take what help we can give you and make it work.”

“What kind of help?” Pickett asked just before they were interrupted.

“Reckon old Clem there can speak for us,” one man said and the entire group nodded in unison.

“What in the hell makes you think I want such a responsibility?” Pickett demanded.

“You're probably the only one can do it,” the man shrugged, and behind the rest nodded in agreement once more. “We got to do something, Clem. Was help coming, it'd be here already. We're just running around with ever body doing what's good for them and nothing else. All that has got us is trouble. We got to change and them being here is a good time to do it.”

“Please?” more than one voice from the group pleaded. Pickett ran a hand down his face in frustration.

“Damnation,” he muttered to himself. “I should have stayed home and played solitaire.” He looked at Shane.

“What kinda help can you give us to get on our feet around here?”

Behind his mask, Shane smiled.

***

“Clayton, I don't like the way things are going around here.”

“Well it's a good thing you said something or else I'd never have known,” Clay's sarcasm was easy for his mother to hear.

“I don't appreciate that tone,” she warned him.

“I don't appreciate having my meals interrupted,” Clay shrugged. “We all got things we hate. What is it that's bothering you today?”

“I don't like how you're ignoring us.”

“And how would that be?” Clay was puzzled.

“We came to see you about that young woman you had chained-,”

“That is not open for discussion,” Clay interrupted her with an upheld hand. “I don't come to your kitchen and tell you how to bake, do I? What else.”

“I know Franklin came to complain about those two women,” Angela tried again.

“Yes, except he didn't really have a complaint,” Clay nodded. “It's just something he doesn't like. Which is too bad, but it isn't an issue with most other people, at least not at this point.”

“It is an issue,” Angela insisted. “I will not have people like that caring for children!”

“Good thing you aren't in charge then, huh?” Clay stood his ground. “Neither of those women has done a single damn thing out of line. If they do then I’ll deal with it unless Leon is back on his feet, in which case he can. Unless and until they actually commit some foul deed, however, they are where they are. And I will not tolerate attacks on them, either. Just so you know.”

“You were raised better that that!” she snapped at him.

“Was I?” Clay asked carefully. “I thought I was raised that I wasn't allowed to judge other people, Mom. That I was supposed to remember who it was that got to do the judging. You know what I see? I see a group of people who can't deal with reality. Who can't seem to get it through their heads that things have changed, more or less permanently, and they can't or won't change with them.

“Those two women live in a way you don't like; deal with it. America, for better or worse, already has. Like I told Mister George; you want your rights? Then you better be willing and ready to recognize the rights of other people as well. I know how to do that. I can recognize that even if I don't like what someone is doing, they have the right to do it so long as it don't affect me and mine, by which I mean cause us harm. Nothing those two women are doing is harming anyone, aside from maybe themselves, and that ain't my business. And honestly, it ain't my concern, either. They're consenting adults and got the right to do as they please, again so long as they ain't harming nobody else, which they aren't.”

“How can you think that two women like that being allowed to care for small children isn't harmful?” his mother demanded.

“Can you prove that it is?” Clay demanded in return. “Can you give me one instance of a child being harmed by the simple fact that them two are in an adult relationship?”

“It's a sin,” Angela declared, as if that would do it.

“So is adultery,” Clay nodded. “So are a lot of other things. Including judging others,” he raised an eyebrow. “And you've yet to show me how this is adversely affecting children who are too young to even realize that Trudy Leighton is a lesbian.”

“What?” Angela seemed taken aback by this.

“She works at the orphanage during the daytime, when all the older kids are at school,” Clay pointed out. “She's not indoctrinating them for God's sake, she's changing diapers and wiping noses. Washing diapers I guess, too. Making meals of mashed vegetables to feed to kids who have maybe three teeth or something. Kids who know maybe thirty words total, and lesbian ain't one of 'em. Now I asked you for one single instance of harm being done to those children, and you ain't got one, do you. And please, let’s not go for the 'it's a sin' angle any more. It ain't working. There's plenty of sin going on around here. Too much for you to single out two people who are working hard and aren't bothering anyone. Yes, I know Leighton has a mouth on her, but she's kept it in check other than during introductions. Of course, considering the objections of late, she might have known something I didn't when she expected trouble.”

“I am not going to allow this,” Angela insisted.

“You still think you got a say, don't you,” Clay almost smirked. “Tough. You don't. You aren't running things, Mom. You aren't going to, either. Your influence is whatever you can get out of me or Leon. Can't speak for Leon, but that bridge is pretty burned with me. And after Malitha George almost pushed Leon into a stroke over all this earlier this morning, I'd imagine you bringing it up with him is a non-starter as well. Welcome to try I guess, but it will have to wait a week since Patricia has ordered the Old Man to have five days of complete rest that includes no visitors.”

“What?” Angela seemed stunned.

“Malitha George went to see Leon this morning about this terrible thing of having a lesbian woman working to wash dirty diapers,” Clay's sarcasm was growing thicker. “Ended up calling Leon a heathen and almost sending the Old Man into a stroke or maybe a heart attack. Left him struggling to breathe and Patty says he's knocking on pneumonia. Malitha got a good lick in, apparently. So now Leon is out for at least five days, assuming she hasn't actually killed him. That leaves you, and her, stuck with me. And I am completely out of understanding for all this bullshit!” his tone was suddenly harsher and his mother actually drew back slightly.

“It is far past time for you, Malitha, Marla Jones and anyone else with a damn chip on her shoulder to get your head outta the dark and look around you! Things have changed! We are fighting for our fu-, for our survival here!” he barely caught himself. “We're fighting just to make it another day and the three of you somehow think that things are still just ducky! Well they ain't, nor are they likely to be again. Raising hell for mattresses? Really? Demanding your way be followed or else? Or else what?” he snarled.

“You really think we can't get by without whatever work the three of you manage to do in a day?” he snorted in humor. “You spend more time making trouble than you do making bread, you know that? And it's going to end, one way or another. We are working just to make another season and the three of you are worried about a woman who has killed no telling how many women and children, and then worked up over two women in a relationship that is entirely none of your damn business! Three words for you; Get. Over. It.

“And do it today, because if Leon is in a bad way then all of this crap just landed on my plate, and I promise you I'm going to be angry and ornery as long as I have to do his job and mine both!”

With that he stomped away, his mother still almost staggering beneath the weight of his tirade.

***

“Weather permitting, we’ll have a tractor here in two to three days that will plow up all the ground you can manage between you,” Shane informed Pickett. “Be ready for it so you can show the driver where the work needs to be done. This is seed,” Shane thrust a large basket into Pickett's hands, who in turn handed it to a larger man, the one who had initially appealed to him to take charge.

“Those are heirloom seeds,” Shane reminded him. “In case we don't get back here, remember you have to dry out some of the seeds from your crop and store them for next year. If you don't, then you won't have seeds to plant. I honestly don't know if we can replace them if you lose them, so please be careful.

“You need to elect a marshal from among yourselves and deem him or her as your peace officer. That won't be a full time occupation, mind, but we all work two and three jobs ourselves, so we know it works. Still, you’ll need some kind of legal system in place to deal with trouble. We will help you with that as much as we can. A local lawman survived an ambush and is almost recovered. We’ll try and get him up this way to talk to you, and he may well start making a circuit up this way. We’ll help him when and as we can. Meanwhile, y' all need to be prepared to handle things like that yourselves.”

“When will you be back?”

“When will you bring more food?”

“When are you going to get the power back on?”

The bombardment of questions started again until Shane held up a hand.

“We’ll be back when we can,” he promised. “I don't know yet how often that is since we don't know how large an area we’ll end up being responsible for. We should know before long, but before long ain't a date, exactly. We’ll do the best we can.

“We will try and bring the same amount of food next time, but we can't promise it. Others are having to eat from it as well. That makes your planting and gardening more important. Meantime you need to start gathering the empty jars, with all the lids and rings you can find. What you can't can you’ll have to dry out in order to preserve it through the winter.

“The power is gone,” he answered finally. “The sun sprayed us with a massive matter ejection that essentially fried most electronics across the planet. Worse, it also fried the power grid, the power producing dams and nuclear plants, and the factories that could replace the equipment that was lost. It will almost certainly be years before we see power restored to areas like ours, if we ever do in our lifetime.

“Stop thinking in terms of getting back to normal and accept that this is normal, now. I know that sucks, it sucks for me, too. I miss my comfort as much as any man does. But this is where we are now.” He turned to Pickett.

“We’ll try for three days on the tractor. He’ll have an escort, may or may not be us, I don't know. It would be for the best if no one tried to interfere. Understand?”

“Meaning if anyone makes a grab for the tractor they get shot?” Pickett raised an eyebrow. “Reckon everyone will be able to understand that. Just don't hold me responsible for some idiot that can't figure that out. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Shane promised. “Good luck, Mister Mayor,” Shane clapped Pickett's shoulder.

“Oh, thanks.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“I can't do this, man.”

Clay frowned as Shane made his declaration. He had been distant since he'd returned, and had been more taciturn than usual other than reporting his success at the church in Jordan. Gordon had recognized 'Mayor' Pickett's name and had nodded his approval of him as a community leader. Shane had agreed he thought Pickett to be okay, and had outlined what steps had been made so far. Yet his mood had fallen as he finished his report and it hadn't improved. He had spent the rest of the day supervising the turn-around of the vehicles they had used to make their recon and then disappeared for a while. Now he was facing Clay over the small table that had become a desk.

“Do what?” Clay asked.

“I can't keep looking at women and kids that are starving and just . . . leave 'em to it, Boss,” Shane was shaking his head. “I didn't like it overseas and I really don't like it here. I can't keep on doing it.”

“What's your solution, then?” Clay leaned back, looking at Shane carefully. “Just quit?”

“No, but I can't keep just passing them by, or handing them a few cans and some candy before I move on,” Shane said heavily. “I met a woman today with two kids that ain't seen or spoken to a soul aside from her children since the lights went out. She cried just to be talking to someone new, man. I can take a lot of things, Clay. I have taken a lot over the years. That? No, man,” he was shaking his head. “I can't deal.”

“Shane, we're just getting started, and you helped us get started at that,” Clay fought to keep his exasperation from his voice. “We can't change things overnight, and you know that. We start now, working as much and as fast as we can and expanding it as far as possible, depending on our own capabilities. We can't do it all, and right now no one else appears to be doing a damn thing. Now if you want to abandon that woman and her kids, I can't stop you. Did you promise her you'd be back?”

“I'm not abandoning her!” Shane insisted. “It's just . . . it's too hard, man,” he was shaking his head again. “Driving away and leaving them like that after I know what they've been through.”

“Is it just that one woman or is it everyone?” Clay asked carefully.

“She was the only person we saw outside the bunch in Jordan,” Shane admitted. “We made a pretty wide loop coming back but we didn't see another soul. I'd like to believe there were people out there and they just didn't want to show themselves, but I can't swear to it.”

“So it's just the one woman and her two kids then?” Clay pressed.

“So far,” Shane nodded.

“And if we were to bring her here, would that alleviate your inability to keep going?” Clay asked.

“It's not about her, personally,” Shane shook his head yet again. “There were a bunch of ragged kids at the church, too.”

“Shane, those kids will still be doing without even if you don't have to look at them,” Clay reminded his friend. “Your choosing not to go see them won't help them any at all. Or you either, for that matter.”

“I'm aware of that,” Shane exhaled heavily. “But . . . it's not that I can't stand to see them so much as I can't stand not to be able to help them!”

“I get that,” Clay nodded slowly. “And for what it's worth I feel the same way,” he admitted. “But I remind myself that none of this is my fault. I admit I could have handled things around here better prior to the Storm, but I wasn't thinking about anyone else but my family at the time. I was doing a lot of work on my own for a long time so I had to do what I could and let that be it. Even after I had help I still didn't think much further than this farm, to be honest. If I'd thought a little further ahead, then Jordan and the area around us might be better off now, I don't know. As it is, we have the means to help them be self-sufficient in the future and those who are left are the ones willing to work. With our help, their future isn't as dark as it was a month ago.”

Shane didn't say anything as he mulled that over.

“I get where you're coming from,” Clay continued, sensing he was winning Shane over. “I do. But if you think you can't hack it now, then wait until this fall when no one has food left and winter starts. People who made it that far won't make it through another winter without help, and we can't help them unless we help them help themselves. We can't feed them all. We gotta help them feed themselves.”

“Teach a man to fish?” Shane snorted, and Clay nodded.

“That's it exactly. Now you can pull yourself into a hole here and sit that out, or you can help make sure that they can get through another winter. That's your call and I can't make if for you. Bear in mind that we don't have that many experienced hands around here, not with this kind of work anyway. But you gotta do you, man,” Clay shrugged.

“Think about it and let me know. We’ll try and send the tractor day after tomorrow. That will require a pretty strong guard to protect the tractor and the fuel. If we can we’ll go ahead and send two, one with a harrow and one disc. That would pretty well leave them ready to plant. They have the manpower to plant by hand rather than need the planter from the tractor, so we’ll let them do that. They should be able to gather sufficient hand tools from the area around town to work the farrows with. It will keep them busy, too. Idle hands and all that.

“If you don't think you can do it, I need to know so I can put someone else in there.”

***

“Good work today.”

Zach looked up from where he was cleaning and servicing his M-2 and M-4 to see Xavier Adair looking down at him.

“Thanks,” Zach nodded. “Just doing my job.”

“Were you thinking of joining up before all this happened?” Xavier sat down beside him.

“Considered it as a way to pay for school,” Zach nodded, continuing to set the head space on the big Browning. “Was hoping to get a football scholarship, but the service was my backup plan.”

“I see,” Xavier nodded. “Is that your mark?” he asked, indicating the set space on the Browning.

“Yeah,” Zach nodded. “It's what I use to remind me how much it's moved. Let’s me know if I'm not tightening things down right.”

“Good move,” Xavier approved. “Someone teach you that?”

“No,” Zach shook his head. “Seemed like a good idea to know, so I started it. Just for my own information, you know.”

“Might interest you to know that more experienced gunners teach that trick, too,” Xavier told him. “That you did it on your own shows good awareness.”

“Cool,” Zach nodded once, finishing his adjustments. Satisfied that the Browning was now mission ready, he turned to his rifle.

“Stacey was saying you managed to fire just one round from the Ma Two earlier,” Xavier noted. “How did you manage that, if I may ask?”

“Left an empty link behind the first round,” Zach replied easily.

“Another old trick,” Xavier nodded. “Did you decide on that on your own as well?”

“Yeah,” Zach nodded as he tore down the M-4. “It gives me a one time ability to squeeze off a single round from the fifty in case I need it. It only takes a second to clear the empty link if I need more so it's a minimal risk, but in some cases having that one round could be a big deal if I use it right.”

“Well done,” Xavier approved. “You would have done well in the Army, Zach,” Xavier clasped the younger man's shoulder before getting to his feet.

“We’ll be heading back to Jordan in two days,” Xavier told him. “Would you like to be included in the mission?”

“If that's what they need me for, sure,” Zach nodded absently.

“I felt sure you would go if asked or ordered to,” Xavier assured him. “What I wish to know is if you desire to go. If you want to be part of the mission as opposed to being willing to go if asked?”

“Sure,” Zach looked up at the older man. “Always fun to get out and move around. I'm always up for a road trip.”

“Then I will ask that you be included in the line-up,” Xavier promised. “Good evening, Zachary.” With that Xavier departed, leaving Zach looking after him with a frown.

“Wonder what that was about,” he muttered to himself before returning to his rifle.

***

“Clay you got a minute or two?”

Clay looked up to see his brother Robert standing before the small table he used as a desk and their brother-in-law Ronny standing behind him.

“Sure,” Clay replied, even though he didn't really have the time. He would have to make it. “Have a seat,” he told them. “What's up?” he asked as the two settled into folding chairs.

“I know Mom came to see you earlier,” Robert said without preamble. “I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess she wanted to talk about that lesbian couple. Yeah?”

“Got it in one,” Clay nodded.

“And I know that Patricia told you about Malitha damn near pushing the Old Man into arrest,” Robert continued.

“She did,” Clay nodded once more, wondering where this was going.

“Clay, Leon has made it clear that he's grooming you to take his place,” Robert said plainly. “Just so you know, I fully support that. I think of all of us, you're the better bet to lead this outfit. Leon had the right idea in putting other people in charge of specific areas, but we need someone in charge overall, and you're definitely the best choice.”

“I agree,” Ronny chimed in. “Completely.”

“Great,” Clay's sarcasm was thick. “I've been trying to get out of it,” he told them.

“I'd not plan on that happening,” Robert grinned slightly. “Patricia supports you, too, and I know Gordy does. Which means Sam will. And I'd bet that Abby will as well, even if that surprises you.”

“Alicia agrees, and I know the twins will,” Ronny nodded. “Gordon and I haven't spoken of it, but he's been nothing but approving in his support of you so far.”

“Is that right?” This did get Clay's attention.

“I also know that he's corrected Mom more than once when she wanted to try and pressure you to do something,” Robert said. “I think that a lot of Dad's making complaints to you are to placate her. Can't swear to that, but it's what I think.”

“I can actually understand that,” Clay admitted. “Dad and I have had a few words, but he has capitulated pretty quickly.”

“Pro forma all the way, I'd say,” Robert nodded. “The point we're getting at is that while Mom and a few others, namely Malitha George and Marla Jones for sure are giving you a hard time, their support is minimal. I would suppose that Franklin would support them if for no other reason than to please Malitha, but he'd also see it as his mission to oppose that couple on religious grounds as well.”

“I've already had the 'it's a sin' discussion,” Clay agreed.

“Well, it is a sin,” Ronny shrugged. “Bible says so. But the Constitution has been ruled to say it doesn't matter from a legal standpoint. They're entitled to live the way they choose. For most of us, that ends the discussion. They don't really require our approval. So long as they aren't hurting us, then they can do as they please.”

“Made the same argument myself.” Clay didn't add that he was more than pleased to have this kind of support from within his own family.

“Anyway, to cut to the chase, we support you,” Robert said flat out. “Neither of those women has been a step out of line that we know of, and it's not like they're running around making out in front of anyone. Leighton did mouth off at the meet and greet, but maybe she's had this kind of reception before. If so then I can understand her being on the defensive. Or offensive as the case might be.”

“So just so you know,” Robert stood up, “we're behind you. If you need us to say something, we will. We aren't going to unless you ask or need us to, because we talked about it and decided that would look . . . it would be like we were undercutting your authority,” he made a slashing motion with his hand. “We don't want to do that, and you don't deserve it.”

“At the same time,” Ronny spoke up, “we wanted you to know that we got your back, and we can and will support you vocally if you need it. What we don't want to do is take away from your position, though. So, we felt like we needed to let you know where we stand, and then you take the lead. Whatever you need from us, know that we're here. Alicia and Patricia, too,” he added.

Clay was almost overwhelmed, and took a minute to steady himself.

“Guys, you don't know how much weight you just took off my shoulders,” he admitted finally, getting to his feet only with a supreme effort. “I can't thank you enough for this,” he told his brother and brother-in-law.

“You don't have to,” Robert shook his head. “You deserve our support, Clayton. I'm ashamed that you think you have to thank us for it. That means I haven't done enough to make sure you knew I was behind you. So I'm sorry for that.”

“He knew I was behind him, so I ain't gotta be ashamed, or apologize,” Ronny dug at his older brother-in-law, eliciting laughter from the Sanders brothers.

“Seriously guys,” Clay said once the laughter had subsided. “I really mean it. You have no idea how much this means to me. I can't even put it into words that do it justice. Thank you.”

“Well, that's all we wanted to say,” Robert said, then looked at Ronny. “All I wanted to say, anyway,” he raised an eyebrow at his brother-in-law.

“You agreed we'd do the talking,” Ronny barely managed to keep a straight face waiting for Robert and Clay to burst out laughing.

“All right,” Robert had to wipe his eyes after laughing so hard. “I’ll take the comedian and we’ll get outta your hair,” he told his brother. “With Leon down for a few days we know you’ll be busier than usual. If you need us to do anything just tell us.”

“You guys want to take the tractors and go to Jordan, day after tomorrow?” Clay asked.

“What are we doing?” Ronny asked, serious now.

“We gave them seeds and they sort of elected slash drafted Clem Pickett to be the new 'mayor'. We're going to plow up enough ground around town that they can plant gardens everywhere. If we can muster two tractors then we can use a harrow to help smooth out the ground. Most of it probably never had a taste of the plow.”

“I don't see why we can't,” Ronny said after he exchanged a look with Robert. “You know people will recognize us and the tractors, though.”

“If we can manage masks for you and slap some OD paint on the tractors that might help,” Clay mused. “You guys mind the paint?” he asked.

“I don't,” Robert shook his head. “Dad might be another story.”

“Just make some signs for a fake farm somewhere else,” Ronny shrugged. “Give it an Alabama address or something.”

“That ain't a bad idea,” Robert nodded. “It's not like our rigs are the only ones ever made.”

“That's what we’ll do then,” Clay agreed. “We’ll set you both up with BDU clothing and masks so it will look like you're military. Just keep your faces covered and it should work fine. Thanks guys.”

“We live to serve,” Ronny mock saluted. The two were still laughing when they departed, leaving Clay feeling lighter than he had in . . . since he'd come home, probably. He finished the work he had to do and walked home smiling.

A good finish to a fair day, he decided.

***

“Gordon, we've got to do something about this.”

“Angela, enough,” Gordon looked up tiredly from the book in his lap. “No more. What has happened to you? When we were trying to prepare ourselves for this you were one of the most level headed and realistic people in the outfit. Now? Running Clayton off by demanding mattresses every time the boy had five minutes to eat? Barging in on his lunch time to complain about how he was treating a murderer? And now it's about two women who aren't hurting anything other than your sensibilities.”

“Gordon, how can you-,”

“I said enough!” Gordon snapped, slamming his book closed. “Have you looked around? We have run completely out of normal, Angela. I thought you of all people recognized that. Realized that things had changed and we had to change with them. I know you don't like how things are going and while I can sympathize with you, I don't agree with how you're doing things. Especially the way you're treating Clayton. I want it to end, and I mean end today. I've given him much too hard a time myself on your behalf, and I don't aim to do it any more. I said that before and I'm ashamed I didn't stick to it, but I will this time.

“You need to face the facts that we are living in a whole new world now, and things aren't going to be the way you want them anymore. We need willing, working and trustworthy people and those two fit the bill. Period. They're well behaved, too. Yes, I know the one had an outburst at first, but considering how you bunch are acting it just may have been justified. There are entirely too many things around here that are monumentally more important than your concern about two women who are keeping their private life private. And another thing, while I'm on the subject,” he stood up, anger flowing through him.

“Malitha George damn near caused my father to have a heart attack today over this shit,” he fumed. “You, her and Marla Jones better get it in your heads right now that I am not going to tolerate any of that kind of crap anymore. From now on, none of you are allowed to just march into Leon's house and complain about a damn thing. You got something you want to harp on, you come to me. And I'm warning you, Angela, it had better not be about those two young women. I'm tired of hearing it. People are allowed to sin whether we like it or not. There's more than one couple around here living in sin, you know. Stop casting stones. One of them is liable to come back on you.”

With that Gordon took his book and headed for bed, leaving a stunned wife behind. Angela watched him go, a frown creasing her forehead. She could count on one hand the times she had heard her husband curse. It was a sure sign that he was really, truly angry and not just 'aggravated' as he liked to call it. Gordon was one of the most even-tempered men she had ever known. She had always said that Gordy's even disposition was something he inherited from Gordon along with his name.

But he was angry tonight. She had pushed him too far. Malitha had been entirely in the wrong in how she had treated Leon, there was no doubt about that. True, she was upset because she was having to work with that . . . that woman, but that was no excuse for her to act as she had toward Angela's father-in-law. That appeared to have been a very big part of Gordon's anger, too. She could hardly blame him for that.

While she felt sure that she was right in what she was doing, there appeared to be no point in pursuing it for now. Clayton had been right it seemed. The three women did not wield nearly as much influence as they had imagined.

With anyone.

***

“You need to talk to Clayton about this mess, Lainie,” Marla said flatly. “This needs to stop before it gets out of hand.”

“What needs to stop?” Lainie's voice was cool. “Pushing Leon toward a stroke? Let me stop you before you get started,” Lainie held up a hand. “No. I won't talk to Clayton for you, and I won't make demands of him on your behalf. I know what you're up in arms about and I'm sick of hearing it. You three make me sick to my stomach.

“There are people starving out there,” she waved an arm in the general direction of Jordan, “and you three, four I guess with Franklin, are creating all this fuss over two women who are willing to work and contribute even in the most menial of ways? Complaining about how a self-professed thief, murderer and human trafficker was being treated? Are you shitting me?” she almost yelled. “Do you have any idea how many young women I helped to escape that kind of shit over the years? And you, you're angry because of how she was being treated? Where is your anger at how her victims were treated, Marla? Where is your outrage for the people she had murdered in order to take what she wanted from them? Hm? Where was all your hell raising over that?

“You know what you remind me of? You remind me of a social worker I knew once. She was chicken shit, so she didn't take truly endangered children from druggies and dope dealers or other thugs, afraid they'd do something to her. Instead, she saved her wrath for honest, hardworking people who fell victim to false claims or trumped up charges that inflated whatever had actually happened in order to make a case out of it. One of my girls took her daughter to the emergency room because she fell down and hurt her arm. The hospital called their social worker because a child was involved and when they found out the mother was a stripper, CPS was called for no other reason than that.

“My girl damn near lost her daughter over that kind of sanctimonious horse shit! You don't complain about people like that murdering bitch, but you’ll mouth off to Clay or Leon all day? Well you can kiss my ass, Marla, grandmother or no. How the hell can you sit here after what you went through and still think that things are in any way normal, anymore?” She wrenched the front door open.

“Get out,” her voice was suddenly lower. “And if you say anything else to Clay about this, with all he has on him, I will kick your ass myself. And I promise you this,” she all but snarled as she got nose to nose with the older woman. “Any of you pushes Leon into a heart attack and I will see you dead alongside him if I have to do it myself. If you think I'm joking, just try me. Now go. Do your cackling somewhere else.”

Marla wanted to argue but she knew that Lainie was angry and an angry Lainie was unpredictable at best and impossible to reason with. Marla had intended to basically coerce her granddaughter into pressuring Clayton to listen to her and the others and accede to their demands. Give them the consideration they were due. A plan that had backfired spectacularly before it had even been launched.

The walk back to Leon's seemed a good deal longer than the walk up to Clay's cabin had been.

***

“Have I missed something, somewhere?” Jose Juarez asked as he and Clay sat at a picnic table outside the old Troy home.

“What do you mean?”

“Where is all this hell raising coming from?” Jose asked. “No offense, I know your mother is one of the chief raisers. I don't understand where all this fuss is coming from over how we treated a murdering thug, woman or no, and about two lesbians? What the hell? Are we in the dark ages or something?”

“Small towns are insulated, man,” Clay shrugged. “Always slow to move forward. We're a lot like China in that we revere age as a guarantee of wisdom. We're conditioned to listen to and heed what older people say. In this case, the older people are being ignored and they don't like it. Simple.”

“It's bullshit is what it is,” Jose shook his head. “As if we ain't got enough to worry about? Really?”

“Really,” Clay nodded. “But I did have a pleasant surprise tonight,” he added. He outlined the discussion he'd had with Robert and Ronny. Jose was nodding in approval at the end.

“That's awesome, man. You absolutely deserve it.”

“Thanks man,” Clay clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I'm heading to bed, brother. We have to put together a package tomorrow for the trip to Jordan. We’ll need escorts and we’ll need a man on each tractor to ride shotgun. We’ll work it out in the morning, but I'm planning on sending one of the four-wheel Cougars and maybe one of those Guardians, too. Think it over and we’ll talk about it tomorrow. Hopefully all this crap will be over with by then.”

“Lord hear our prayer,” Jose snorted. “Night man.”

***

“We're sending one four-by-four and one six-wheel Cougar, escorting one of the armored rigs pulling the tractors on the big flatbed. One truck will follow carrying a fuel tank and tools in case they're needed. I wish we had a Humvee truck that we could use, but we don't, so the pickup is the best we can manage.

“Robert and Ronny are driving the tractors, with Titus and Kade riding shotgun. Nate will man the gun in the four wheel with Stacey driving and whoever is in command riding shotgun. X, Kevin and Zach will be in the six-wheel, with Zach on the gun and X in command of that vehicle in the event you get separated. Ellen will be driving the rig with Tandi riding shotgun. Ronny and Robert will be in the pickup.” Clay stood up from the listings and map on the table.

“This op leaves us severely undermanned here at home,” he told the assembled troops. “Stay alert to the radio at all times. It may be that we have to call some of you back here in a hurry. Do not let anything happen to those tractors,” he stressed. “Other than yourselves, those tractors are the most vital equipment we're sending. I want everything back, mind you, but if we lost those rigs then harvest and planting time around here reverts to a lot of horse and plow. I really do not want to deal with that if you don't mind,” he chuckled.

“Who's in command?” Mitchell asked.

“I'm working on that.”

***

“Rat, I need an answer,” Clay said gently. Shane was sitting on the roof of Building Two, outside the rear cupola. It was rarely used and gave him easy access to step onto the roof.

“I’ll go,” was the soft answer. “I hate it, but . . . like you said; me not seeing it won't change it. I just got to man up and get the job done. That's all. Grow a pair as Big John used to say,” he gave a short, bitter laugh devoid of humor.

“You don't want to go, you ain't gotta,” Clay reminded him. “I need folks here, too.”

“I'm the best man for the job,” Shane shrugged easily.

“That is true,” Clay agreed. “You've always been the face man in situations like these. I've seen you do this kind of thing in too many places. You won the church crowd over easy enough.”

“It wasn't that easy, but it also wasn't the hardest thing I've ever done, either,” Shane nodded absently. “I'm sorry for flaking, man,” he added after a moment of silence. “I don't know what came over me.”

“You're human, brother,” Clay replied easily. “That's what came over you. It's nothing to be ashamed of. I'd be more concerned if you weren't bothered by all this.”

“I suppose,” Shane nodded again, slowly. “Anyway, I’ll be down in a minute and get briefed. I assume you've already put a package together?”

“Yeah, but if you want a change we can look at it.”

“Nah. I trust you. Be down in a sec.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“All units check in,” Shane ordered over the radio.

“Jolly Green ready,” Tandi called from the big rig. Ellen hadn't been overly pleased at first to hear she was trading the Beast in for an army rig, but after a brief inspection of the armored truck she had decided she could bear up.

“Ghost ready,” Kevin Bodee called in from the six-wheel.

“Filling Station ready,” Robert laughed as he checked himself and Ronny in.

“All right then, we're good to go,” Shane replied. “Move it out.”

Slowly the small caravan began moving. The smaller four-wheel Cougar lead the way. Smaller didn't exactly mean small, but Stacey Pryor handled it just fine. Nate Caudell sat in the tub, a Mk 19 mounted on the cupola and his rifle in hand. There was also a smaller caliber machine gun inside if he needed it.

It was an uneventful journey to Jordan, the trip being just long enough for everyone to let their nerves settle a bit before ramping back up as they concentrated on seeking out any ambush that had been laid for them. They found none, but vigilance was important and they maintained it.

The rig and the two tractors now sported wooden signs that proclaimed they were part of 'Triple J Farms', of Caskell, Alabama. So far as anyone knew there was no 'Triple J Farms', just as there was no Caskell, Alabama, both being made up the previous day and put into words. No one knew if they would fool anyone, but it was worth the small amount of effort it took to try.

Shane found Mayor Pickett waiting for him on the small town square, really just a little park surrounded by rows of shops and a split rail fence as a border. Shane stepped down from the Cougar as the rest of the vehicles came to a stop still on the highway, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

“You did make it, after all,” Pickett almost smiled but caught himself at the last minute.

“So I did,” Shane agreed. “We've got two tractors with operators. One will break ground while the other preps it for planting. I assume you gathered all the hand tools you could find?”

“That we did,” Pickett nodded firmly. “Should have more than enough to get the job done. We've already picked out several areas for plowing and have people standing by there to show you where we want to plow. As soon as you're done, the people in charge of that area will start planting. Today.”

“Outstanding,” Shane clapped his hands. “Let me get them unloaded and rolling. I'd like to be on my way back before night.”

“Scared of the dark?” Pickett teased.

“Scared of what's in it,” Shane corrected. He was not teasing at all.

***

“Man, they have had it hard,” Kade said softly as he rode beside Robert Sanders in the smaller of the two tractors. Smaller being relative as the rig he drove was a mammoth four-wheel drive beast.

“So they have,” Robert didn't look away from his work. He was operating in tight quarters as it was. “Those who are left are the strongest, I guess. I hope they are, anyway.”

“Are we gonna do anything else for 'em?” Kade asked.

“We're going to do all we can do that doesn't endanger our survival,” Robert promised the teen. “That's the plan. To get Jordan up off its knees and make it self-sufficient. Able to feed themselves.”

“What about protection?” Kade wondered.

“Not my department,” Robert admitted. “I'm a farmer.”

***

“What do you two think about Jordan?” Clay asked, looking from Greg Holloway to Sienna Newell and back again.

“I suppose I should move back home,” Greg sighed. “I'm healed now and fit for service. The ideal thing would be for me to move back and take over the marshal slot.”

“And leave us unprotected?” Clay feigned shock. “At the mercy of the big wide world without your Marine manliness here to shield our virtue?”

“Up yours,” Greg snorted, flipping his friend the bird and making Sienna burst out laughing.

“How long you two known each other?” she asked.

“Ever,” both said at the same time, laughing.

“Dude, I think you need to stay right here,” Clay turned serious. “Let them take responsibility for themselves and their own safety. You two can train a few candidates to provide security and law enforcement and we’ll let Tandi teach a few of them basic lifesaving. Maybe eventually let Patricia and Captain Thatcher teach a few to be paramedics, I guess. Let’s walk before we run, though. I don't trust that outfit enough to just watch you sashay back in there and set up house.”

“I didn't say I liked the idea, man,” Greg nodded. “Just said it's what I ought to do.”

“No, Boss is right,” Sienna was shaking her head. “That crowd don't know yet how it's gonna shake down. Let’s see what they're willing to do first and then go from there. How about that?”

“It's a good plan,” Greg agreed. “We need to provide sidearms and shotguns if they don't have them. Basic ammunition and enough to train with. We can put them through a rudimentary training, including some PT and basic law, but . . . Clay, without at least a judge, what are they going to do about enforcing anything? There's a lot involved with something like that, and LEO roles are just the tip of the iceberg.”

“I can't be helping that, Greg,” Clay shrugged. “There's probably at least one lawyer left in there somewhere. They're like cockroaches after all. They always turn up. They're going to have to do some of this on their own. How many people are you wanting to train up?”

“Probably six or so,” Greg replied. “Maybe eight if we can find them. There's a lot of people up there and they need to be able to have at least two people working all the time just for their own safety. If they want more, they can see to that themselves as well. I'd say we need six to eight handguns and . . . three, or maybe four shotguns if we get enough for four pairs. That's one scatter for each pair and that should be enough. That's also assuming they need them to start with. Whoever they choose may have their own. I suppose they probably have a rifle or two laying around. If they don't we may want to give them a couple, but nothing fancy. Mini-14 or something similar. Maybe even a deer rifle instead.”

“I like it,” Clay nodded. “We've got plenty of equipment we liberated from people attacking us,” he snorted. “We can outfit them from there, no problem. When do you want to try and do the training?”

“You know they're all going to recognize me, right?” Greg said in lieu of an answer.

“Can't be helped,” Clay nodded. “Once the plowing and what have you is finished, I don't mind them knowing we're the ones who are helping. Some are probably wondering where we are anyway. I just didn't want to risk a scene in town while the tractors were there, not to mention endangering Robert and Ronny.

“My plan is to give them a radio and maybe a solar charger,” Clay continued. “Also, we've got your old patrol car as well as one we took from Peyton that we kept after our altercation with him. They can use one of them, or both if you don't want to keep one.” He had originally intended for the marked patrol car to go to the church along with everything else, but Gordy had realized at the last minute that the car still had equipment inside and that the radio still worked, so he had returned to the farm with it. Now it would come in handy.

“Well, if you give them both cars, radios intact, then we can dial a receiver in on the county frequency and that can serve as their way to contact us, at least at first,” Greg mused. “Those radios will reach this far just fine even without the repeater. One of the Duo will have to adjust the receiver so it will pull in the car-to-car frequency, but that's nothing they can't do.”

“We’ll let the new girl, Millie, handle that I think,” Clay agreed. “She probably has more actual experience in dealing with radios than anyone other than Robert. It’ll be a good test of her ability.”

“Then I'd suggest giving up both patrol cars to Jordan then,” Greg said firmly. “They can use them sparingly, only as absolutely needed, and use the radio to contact us in an emergency. I think we’ll have to really stress the emergency part. If you don't then they’ll be calling for every little thing.”

“We’ll try and explain it to them,” Clay nodded. “Meanwhile, you two decide what you want to try and teach the new deputies, and get ready for that. I’ll go through the weaponry we've seized since this started and come up with what you need in equipment. We’ll need to try and scratch up something approaching uniforms I suppose,” he added almost to himself.

“Let’s get them trained and get them some tools to work with and then we can worry about uniforms,” Greg shook his head. “For all we know, this little experiment is doomed to fail.”

“Come on man, think positive!” Clay urged.

“I’ll get back to you.”

***

“I'm almost sure that someone is watching us.”

Xavier turned slowly to see Zach staring off into the distance from the turret. They were shadowing one of the tractors, moving as it did. Right now they were sitting still, in the shade of a large oak tree.

“Why do you think that?” Xavier asked.

“I can feel it,” Zach replied. “It's like something crawling on my neck, but there's nothing there.”

“Do you think it's hostile?” Xavier asked, curious. This was an excellent opportunity to try and teach the younger man something new, perhaps.

“I . . . no idea,” Zach sounded a tiny bit frustrated. “I wouldn't know how to categorize that. But I'd bet my Neyland Game Ball that someone is watching us right now. If I still had it, anyway,” he added in a mutter.

“I have had the same feeling for that last half-hour,” Xavier finally admitted to Zach. “Learn to trust your instincts, Zachary. Learn to hone them as well. In battle, your instincts are one of your most important weapons. Even when you're wrong, taking cover as you examine your surroundings costs you nothing. Just a little time. As you progress, however, you will learn to distinguish between someone looking and someone who is an actual threat.”

“How?” Zach surprised him by asking.

“The feeling you get from hostile intent is stronger, and will feel malevolent if your instincts are sharper than most,” Xavier explained. “Remember that people who are afraid of you will watch you from concealment just as an enemy would. Fear also has a palpable presence and with experience you will learn to differentiate between the two. Often times you can smell fear as well as aggression. Hormone secretion will sometimes cause that phenomenon. And, sometimes, if a person is aggressive enough, you won't even need that. You’ll be able to just . . . feel it. You may not be able to explain it to others, or even fully understand it yourself, but you will know it. It just takes time.”

“Well, time is the one thing I got,” Zach snorted. “Thanks,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“Of course.”

***

“Over half done,” Pickett said as Robert refueled his tractor. “Already got folks planting, too.”

“Good use of your time,” Shane agreed as Robert stayed silent. “Speaking of time, we can use this time to talk about some other things.”

“Like what?” Pickett was suddenly wary. His attention had left Robert and the tractor, however, which was one of Shane's objectives.

“You're going to need some law enforcement, for security if nothing else,” Shane told him. “For that matter you're going to need a judge, as well. Rather than get into the whole 'lawyer' debate, I'd suggest using someone with some wisdom and common sense to sit on your bench. Eventually you will probably need more of a town government and the ability to create your own laws, but that can wait until you're a little more organized. We can train and equip your choice for police officers, assuming they can handle the job, but you folks need to be the people who select them.”

“That's a whole different kettle of oil than planting gardens everywhere,” Pickett looked contemplative. Not worried exactly but Shane could see some concern there.

“It's not something to do lightly,” he tried to sooth Pickett's concern. “We intend to try and support you whenever possible, but we can't be here all the time. That's why you need your own organization. For that matter, you folks need to be in charge of your own fate, rather than leaving it to others. Having your future in your own hands is better than trusting it to others, even if the others are trustworthy. Just like with us, helping you today. I'd like to think we're trustworthy and that you think that as well, but if I were in your shoes, I'd in no way feel comfortable just turning over everything to a stranger. Or even someone I know, for that matter, unless they lived here, too. And by here I mean actually in town or near it, just to be clear.”

“That does make sense,” Pickett nodded. “Thing is, there aren't . . . there are a lot of people here I don't know that well. People who gravitated here after the fire in town, and then again after the wildfire. Then we had that idiot Greevy running around, bullying everybody. He had a couple friends and they're still here, hanging around. They haven't done nothing yet, but that don't mean they won't. Ain't seen 'em today, probably ‘cause you're here, but they ain't left.”

“Just another reason you need someone dependable to be your security,” Shane seized on Pickett's concern. “You don't have to be fair or considerate about the choices, either,” he added. “You have good people in mind who can get the job done, then that's who you should appoint. When you get to the point where you folks are ready to elect an actual town government then you can consider making a town marshal one of those posts, and let him help select deputies. I'd not leave it just to him, mind you. I'd require him to get the town council's approval on new hires, just to keep things honest.”

“Damn shame that Holloway boy ain't around no more,” Pickett observed sadly. “He was a fine boy and a good deputy. Lived here in town. I heard he got shot up pretty bad during the ruckus in town, though. Supposedly he came through it, or was close anyway. Sanders bunch came and got his things to take to him. Seems he had managed to drive out to their farm before he passed out. Him and that youngest of theirs was friends in school if I recall. Them and Jake Sidell. He used to own the truck stop out on the freeway.”

“Have you tried to contact him?” Shane asked, knowing the answer but playing his part.

“Just got this job three days ago,” Pickett reminded him. “And ain't thought about having a town marshal until just this minute. I imagine if he's with the Sanders he's in better shape than we are, though,” he continued after a brief pause. “That's a good bunch. Hardworking, honest, trustworthy as you like to call it. Even old Leon, though he tends to enjoy making a crooked dollar when he can. Assuming he's still around, anyway,” he added almost to himself.

“Any contact with them?” Shane asked, jiggling the bait a little.

“They came here not long after things had turned to shit,” Pickett nodded. “Brought a truck load of food and a couple cows. Damn fools around here tried to take their truck, complained they hadn't brought enough, demanded more on a regular basis. Typical kind of bullshit you get from folks used to having things handed to 'em. Funny thing, speaking of it. You notice Greevy had a missing front tooth? Well, he lost that when he ate Clayton Sanders' elbow trying to take his truck. I will have to confess I was wont to remind Greevy of that on occasion, whenever he got more high and mighty than I could stand,” he chuckled in the way only an old man seemed to be able to do.

“What happened to him?” Shane asked. “After we left, I mean?”

“His two buddies came and hauled him away, screaming,” Pickett shrugged. “Kinda been expecting them to come and threaten us all at least, but like I said, so far that ain't happened. Maybe we got lucky and Greevy died. That would at least slow the other two down a minute. Well . . . probably.”

“If you give me their names, maybe we can do something about them,” Shane offered. Pickett surprised him by shaking his head.

“No. There's five hundred people here or better. If we let them two bully us and push us around, hell we deserve it. Like you said, we need to be managing our own business, and I reckon them two is our business.”

“Are you armed, Mister Mayor?” Shane asked, concerned.

“I am,” Pickett raised his shirt to allow Shane a glimpse of a 1911 Colt. “And I know how to use it, too,” the old man added as he lowered his shirt again. “Too old to fight and too slow and broke up to run, so I know how to shoot,” he said firmly.

“Makes sense to me,” Shane nodded. “Well, our tractor is moving. Think about what I said, Mister Pickett. Someone else will probably be in touch with you in a day or two. Less than a week I imagine. They will be able to better help you put things together on that front than I can. I'm just a meet and greet sort of person.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Pickett snorted. “Thanks, son.”

“You bet.”

***

“Clayton, I need a word with you, please,” Clay heard his father say. He tried not to let it show but this was last thing he needed at the moment.

“Dad, for God's sake, what now?” he asked in exasperation. “I have got three dozen things going all at the same time and way too many people off and away from here. Can whatever you're here to complain about now wait just a little while?”

“I'm not here to complain, son,” Gordon replied calmly. He deserved his son's attitude and maybe a bit more. “I am here firstly to apologize to you. I've put a great deal of strain on you son, adding to a heavy burden you already carried. And I'm sorry for that. I will admit that most of it I did at your mother's behest, but that just makes it worse in a way. I had promised I'd not put you in such a position any more, but . . . well, I did. So, I'm sorry and I will not do it anymore. I had a brief talk with your mother last night about it, in fact.” When Clay just looked at him, Gordon decided that meant he could continue and did.

“The other thing is that I have informed your mother and told her to tell the others that from now going forward, if they have the urge to complain about something then they're to bring it to me instead of Leon. If I decide it's a genuine concern then I’ll bring it to you, or else to Pa if he's back up and able to make decisions. From now on, no one just barges in and makes demands of the Old Man. His health is just too fragile.”

Clay honestly didn't know what to say at that point. Later on, he would recall that his face had to have shown his shock.

“Son, did you hear me?” Gordon asked after nearly a full minute of silence.

“I think so,” Clay replied slowly. “Just . . . you just caught me by surprise is all,” he finally managed to admit.

“I'm sorry for that being so, Clayton,” Gordon exhaled heavily. “As I said, I shouldn't have done it. I don't know why your mother and the others are doing things the way they are. It's as if they refuse to grasp that things have changed. I thought she had realized how things were, but I'm wondering now if her earlier calm wasn't something more akin to shock.”

“Well, that . . . that's possible.” Clay hadn't considered that.

“I don't know what it will take to jolt them into reality, but until it happens they aren't going to be talking to Leon. Or to you either, assuming I can get to them first. We’ll have to see if I can. But just so you know, I'm trying to take at least some of the burden off you. I'm sorry you had it to start with.”

“I appreciate it,” Clay nodded. “Every thing helps,” he added.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to work, then,” Gordon made a small waving motion with his right hand. “Maybe we can have lunch sometime, where we can not talk about all this and just . . . visit.”

“I'd like that, Dad,” Clay smiled. “I really would.”

“I’ll see you later, son.”

***

“Well, that was a whole lot easier than having to turn all that by hand,” Pickett noted as he watched the tractors being loaded onto the flatbed. “We're nearly half-way to planting it all, too. We should be done by tomorrow and the day after if not. It's a bit late to be sure, but better late than not at all. We should have a good little crop, Lord willing.”

“I hope so Mister Pickett,” Shane replied. “I hope so. Hopefully we’ll be back this way before long,” he extended a hand and Pickett took it. “If not then I hope you have the best run of luck you can possibly get. Things are bad, but they're not that bad. People lived like this for thousands of years. We can manage for a little while until things maybe get back at least partially on track.”

“You know it ain't likely I’ll see that, son,” Pickett chuckled darkly.

“If it makes you feel better, our estimates are that we won't either,” Shane admitted. “The sun hit us full broadside with an EMP wave strong enough to fry everything it could reach. The grid is down hard, and we don't even have the parts to repair it. We don't have the parts to repair the machines to make the parts to get the grid off the ground, for that matter,” his frustration showed a little.

“So we do what we can with what's left,” Pickett was nodding. “Like you said, people did it for millennia. We should be able to get by for a bit. We're going to start opening houses that aren't occupied. Moving people around, salvaging anything that's left. We're going to assume that anyone not here by now isn't likely to come back. We’ll appropriate whatever is left to try and make a new start.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Shane nodded as others finished strapping down the tractors. “Someone will be by in a few days,” he promised once more. “Take care, Mister Pickett.”

“Thanks again to you boys,” Pickett waved.

Five minutes later the small convoy was on the way out of town in a direction different from the one it had arrived from.

***

“Abby, can I talk to you?”

Abby Sanders looked up to see Mattie Simmons standing nearby. Abby stood up from where she had been working on her uncle's backhoe to face her . . . friend? She shelved that for that time being.

“Sure,” she tried to sound neutral at least. “What's up?”

“I . . . I guess you heard by now how I acted when your brother and the others tried to get me home,” Mattie's face was red and she didn't look directly at Abby.

“I heard,” Abby had to try harder to stay neutral this time, but she remembered all that she, herself had done and forced herself to have patience. Anything else would make her a severe hypocrite.

“I shouldn't have said all that, Abby,” Mattie finally managed to look at her. “I'm sorry I did it. All I can say is . . . finding things like that was a blow I couldn't deal with. All this way, everything I went through to get home, and then to find nothing but ruins . . . I lashed out at the closest thing I had to blame, and that was you and your family. It was wrong on a dozen different levels and if I could take it back I would, but I can't. And I'm sorry.”

“You aren't the first person to blame me for losing something to a fire,” Abby told her after a moment of consideration. “Bringing my family into it was wrong, as all they were doing was fighting to save their own homes. And, had my plow not broke down, I'd likely have taken it to try and help out across the highway. But it did and nothing I could do would get it started again.”

“They told me,” Mattie nodded. “Zach and Gordy I mean. I should have stopped but I . . . I couldn't,” she admitted softly. “It felt as if I was broken. Like I was outside, looking at myself. Like it was some macabre dream and couldn't be real.”

“I know,” Abby replied gently. “I saw you in the infirmary when was there to see my mom. You were out of it for a long time.”

“I just wanted to say I'm sorry,” Mattie straightened suddenly. “And thank you. Your family has been nothing but kind to me. You deserved better from me and I'm ashamed I didn't . . . that I couldn't give it. It's a weakness that I regret, but can't go back and change.”

“Well, let’s just try and set it aside,” Abby shrugged easily. “We've got too much else to worry about right now. We all have to work together to survive. Let’s concentrate on that.”

“I’ll see you later, then,” Mattie smiled weakly and went on her way. Abby watched her go in silence.

“You handled that well,” Lainie's voice startled her and she whipped around to see the redhead move out from behind the truck that Ronny used to haul dirt and gravel.

“Thanks,” Abby replied, trying to calm her rapid heartbeat. “How long were you there?”

“Well, I was coming to offer you this,” she held up a water jug and a pair of sandwiches that made Abby realize how hungry she was. “But she got here before I could deliver, so I waited,” Lainie finished as she handed over the goods. Abby took them gratefully.

“Mom said she was in pretty bad shape when she got back,” Abby shrugged as she bit into the first sandwich. “No reason to kick her when she's down.”

“A very mature decision considering how badly she attacked you and your family,” Lainie approved. “Well done. And speaking of well done, I have more to get done,” she laughed. “Enjoy,” she waved as she started back home.

“Thanks again!”

***

“Well, it's done,” Shane reported. Vehicles were still rolling into the yard and behind the buildings as he stood in front of Building Two, reporting in.

“Everything go well?” Clay asked. He was feeling pretty good, after a couple of good days.

“Went just fine, and we warmed him up for Deputy Holloway and Sienna,” Shane promised. “Pickett was wishing for Holloway, by the way. Hey, that rhymed!” he chuckled. “Anyway, he mentioned Holloway having lived there and wished he was still around. Also mentioned that he was probably here, assuming he had recovered. Had some good things to say about you and your family. Oh, and informed me that the guy Zachary shot was the same one that tried to grab your truck last year and got his tooth knocked out. Small world, huh?”

“Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy,” Clay assured him. “Were they getting the work done?”

“Almost half-way finished when we left, according to Mayor Pickett,” Shane nodded. “They must have gotten some organization among them between our first visit and today. Maybe they just needed some reassurance they weren't alone.”

“Well, so long as they remember 'not alone' doesn't equal 'dependent',” Clay said.

“No, I don't think so,” Shane shook his head. “That Greevy fella has two friends that had been helping cause problems and Pickett mentioned them. When I offered to try and deal with them he turned me down. Said there was almost five hundred people there, in and around town, and if two or three men bullied them, then they deserved it. Tough old bird, he is.”

“Well, he's not wrong,” Clay admitted. “Five hundred,” he sighed, the number rolling through his mind. “Used to be almost two thousand people in town.”

“Doubt all of them would have been there when it happened,” Shane reminded him. “And let’s face it, Clay. A hard six months since then, with a winter thrown in for good measure. At least the people that survived are probably a hardy breed.”

“There is that,” Clay nodded slowly. “Don't seem like much, though,” he added softly.

“Take what you can get where you can find it,” Shane tried to cheer him up. “All we can do.”

“Yeah. All we can do. You guys square away and then knock off. Good job.”

“Thank you, oh Great One,” Shane bowed, laughing.

“Smart ass.”

***

“Well, you're definitely breathing better today,” Patricia said as she put her stethoscope away. “The breathing treatment must have helped some. Still coughing up phlegm?” she asked Janice.

“Yes, but not quite so bad,” the girl nodded. “And his coughing isn't as hard, labored I mean, as before.”

“Excellent,” Patricia nodded. “Old Man, you may live a bit longer despite my best efforts,” she teased, patting Leon's leg.

“Yeah, yeah,” he groused from behind his mask. “Kick an old man when he's down, why don't ya?”

“If you aren't careful you’ll live to be a hundred,” Patricia kissed his jaw, causing Leon to splutter.

“Stop that!”

Patricia laughed, a sound almost foreign to her own ears these days. She was more relieved than she could say by Leon's apparent improvement.

“I'm going home, but remember to call me at once if you need me for anything,” she told Janice.

“I will,” the teen promised faithfully.

“See you tomorrow, Leon,” Patricia promised.

“I’ll probably be here,” he groused in return. She laughed again as she headed out the door. In the distance she could see vehicles rolling into the old Troy place and knew that Robert would be home soon. Even better.

A good end to the day.

***

Trudy Leighton had a secret. One she guarded as closely as the government had guarded nuclear launch codes.

She loved babies.

She pretended she didn't, and would swear when asked that it wasn't true, but it was. She wasn't as wild about children as they grew older and became little trouble magnets, but babies were awesome in her book. Adorable, non-judgmental, and even when you were changing a diaper and it smelled to high heaven, babies just . . . smelled good. She didn't know how anyone could be around a laughing, happy baby and still be a curmudgeon. She certainly couldn't.

“Who's a good little baby, hm?” she asked the tiny girl who had made a mess of her diaper. The girl, who they thought was closing on two years old, gurgled back happily as her arms and legs worked back and forth, clearly pleased with the adult's attention.

“Who made a mess, hm?” Trudy continued as she cleaned the baby with wet rag, wishing it were a baby wipe. “Who made a mess? You did, didn't you? You made a mess for Aunt Trudy to clean up, didn't you?” she smiled and the baby, who they called Tammy, gurgled again, trying to make words.

“What are you doing?” another adult voice snapped, bringing Trudy's head up abruptly, expecting to see one of the other children doing something wrong. Instead she found herself practically face-to-face with the woman she had grown to consider her nemesis; Malitha George.

The older woman was obvious in her dislike, perhaps even hatred of Trudy, but Trudy had ignored it thus far. She was accustomed especially to old people being so . . . hateful. It just was what it was.

“Me?” Trudy tried to hide her surprise. Wasn't it obvious what she was doing?

“Who am I talking to?” Malitha snapped.

“Well, in Texas, we call this changing a dirty diaper,” Trudy shot back shortly, sprinkling a small amount of baby powder on little Tammy's bottom before pinning the new diaper in place. “And boy do I mean dirty, huh?” she gently shook Tammy's foot, much to the baby's delight.

“That's not what it looked like!” Malitha almost snarled.

“Maybe you should wear glasses, then?” Trudy straightened up, picking Tammy up from the rough table where she had been laying. “Or maybe you folks just do it differently? This was how I was taught to change a diaper. Remove the dirty one, clean the baby, powder or ointment and then fresh diaper. All done!” she said the last to Tammy, the baby squealing happily as Trudy used her free hand to tickle her tummy.

“Give me that child!” Malitha demanded, reaching for the baby in Trudy's arms. Trudy turned deftly to keep herself and the baby from the older woman's grasp.

“What is your issue, old woman?” Trudy demanded, moving away from the limping Malitha. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You're what's wrong!” Malitha told her, still trying to grab the baby from Trudy's arms. “Everything about you is wrong! You have no place here, and especially no place caring for children!”

“Wow,” Trudy replied. “Judgmental, much, old woman? Color me surprised. No, I'm kidding,” she added with a snort. “Whatever your problem is with me, you need to keep it away from these children. They don't deserve all of this drama of yours. Neither do I, comes to that, but they certainly don't.”

“There won't be any drama once you're removed from here,” Malitha told her flatly. “You shouldn't even be on this farm, let alone in this house!”

“I don't see how that's for you to say, old lady,” Trudy retorted. “As best I can recall, you don't own this place. Or did I miss where you were part owner?”

“You're an abomination!”

“What the hell is going on in here?” a new voice entered the discussion. Trudy turned to see Kandi Ledford standing in the doorway, hand still on the door knob.

“This old woman has lost her mind!” Trudy exclaimed. “I was trying to change this baby's diaper and she comes barreling out of nowhere, trying to grab her and threatening me!”

“She has no place here!” Malitha shouted. Up until that point, Kandi had been prepared to give Malitha George the benefit of the doubt based on her own experiences with Trudy Leighton. Not fair, perhaps, but Kandi was nothing if not honest and her own relationship with Trudy was a series of ups and downs.

Seeing Malitha George almost frothing made her think twice.

“Mrs. George, you need to calm down, and tell me what's wrong,” Kandi said forcefully, raising a hand before the older woman and stepping between her and Trudy.

“Out of my way!” Malitha tried to muscle her way past. That might have worked against Trudy Leighton. Against the young former Army officer, it failed spectacularly. Kandi was always being mistaken as soft due to her curves. The key word being 'mistaken'. She might not look all that solid, but no matter what your job in the Army might be, you still had to pass PT.

A single hand shove, only lightly done, was enough to send Malitha George stumbling back several steps as Kandi settled into a defensive stance.

“You need to stand down, Mrs. George,” she ordered sternly. “Enough. This place is a home for children, not the Octagon. Whatever has you so riled up needs to be put on hold until you aren't around these children anymore.”

“What's going on in here?” yet another new voice asked.

***

Callie Weston was tired and rather dirty after a day of hard work around the farm. Still, she had enjoyed the day and was beyond happy to be given the chance to make up for her part in the failed attack on the farm, and more importantly earn a chance for herself and her son to stay.

She had intended to get some clean clothing and go take a good shower before spending some time with her little boy ahead of working to fix supper, or at least help fix supper. She wasn't cooking tonight but all of them had to work to help the smaller children feed themselves.

What she walked into however was a scene out of a soap opera. The woman that Miss Malitha disliked so much was standing behind one of the female soldiers that had arrived recently while Miss Malitha tried to grab the child that Leighton was holding. She arrived just in time to hear the soldier girl, Ledford she thought was her name, tell Miss Malitha to calm down until she wasn't in the orphanage around the children.

“What's going on in here?” she demanded. While she and the others might be on thin ice, this was still technically her home.

“Good question,” Ledford answer her without looking her way. “I got here to see Mrs. George chasing Miss Leighton around, calling her an abomination. When I tried to get her to stop, she tried to shove me aside, and here we are.”

“You have no right to interfere!” Malitha shouted.

“Well, I'm pretty sure you have no right to raise a hand against someone else around here,” Kandi shrugged. “Guess we're even on that. Now how did we get to this point?” she said over her shoulder to Leighton.

“I was changing little Tammy's diaper and suddenly she's in my face, demanding to know what I was doing,” Trudy replied. “Out of nowhere I mean. Tried to jerk the baby out of my arms and then began shouting at me when I tried to stay away from her. I guess that's about where you came in,” she told Kandi.

“Sounds about right,” Kandi nodded. “What was your problem with her changing a diaper?” she asked Malitha. “Ain't that part of the job description up here?” Her eyes caught movement behind the older woman. Looking, she saw the teenage girl that worked here, something Webb she remembered, standing on the stairs. Kandi made a brief motion with her head for the girl to return upstairs and the teen promptly fled to the top floor with none of the others ever knowing she was there.

“That . . . that . . . abomination, has no right to touch that child!” Malitha said savagely. She was starting to have a wild look about her that Kandi didn't like.

“We need to stop that name calling business right here,” Kandi demanded evenly. “That ain't getting us nowhere at all. “I know Trudy can be a bit abrasive at times and a real handful to deal with-.”

“Hey!” came a protest from behind her.

“-but I think abomination is a bit strong,” Kandi ignored Trudy's squawk of indignation, keeping her attention on Malitha George. “Now how about you try again, without all that hate and whatnot, to tell me what it is about changing a diaper that's got you so wound up?”

“No one like her should ever touch a child!” Malitha was quieter but no less savage this time. “She shouldn't even be anywhere near this place, let alone working around these children. Callie agrees with that and so do the other mothers here!”

“What?” Callie Weston looked surprised to have her name brought into it. “What did I do, now?”

“You know we've talked about this, child,” Malitha's voice was suddenly syrupy sweet as she spoke to the young woman she had often worked with before the Storm. “How this . . . thing, has no right to be here!” she jabbed a finger at Leighton.

“That's about enough of that kind of thing,” Kandi warned. “I need you to go and get Clayton Sanders, please,” she turned to Callie. “And you step outside,” she ordered Trudy. “Take the baby with you. You,” she turned back to Callie, “find the nearest person on watch and have them come here right away. Go on now!”

“Stay right where you are, Callie Weston!” Malitha George demanded. “We can't let that abomination leave here with that child!”

“I won't tell you again about that name calling,” Kandi's eyes narrowed. “And if you don't want to be in trouble yourself, I wouldn't stand there waiting before I went and did what I was told,” she spoke next to Callie.

Without a word Callie turned and fled, ignoring Malitha's shouts behind her.

“Get out,” Kandi said over her shoulder to Trudy. “Head straight down the hill to the clinic with that baby and wait there. Once you get there, don't leave. And don't go anywhere else. Make sure you don't, either,” she added. “It's important.”

“Okay,” Trudy almost stammered. “Wha-, what about you?”

“I imagine I better stay right here for the time being.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Clay knew it had been too good to be true. Two good days in a row? Work getting done, support from almost his entire family, a good report on Leon, the work crew from Jordan returning with their work completely done and bringing good reports as well. He should have felt it coming, but so much good news so fast had made him forgetful.

“Bossman, from Ray, come back!”

Corey Raynard's voice seemed urgent to say the least.

“Go for Bossman,” he replied immediately.

“Boss, you need to get up to the Orphanage right away,” Corey told him. “Miss Kandi is up there right now, and I'm on my way to the clinic with Miss Leighton and one of the children, but she says there's a problem and that Miss Ledford sent her to get help and to take the baby to the clinic. Apparently Mrs George is . . . she and Miss Kandi are squared off I think, from the sound of it.”

“Fucking perfect,” Clay swore to himself. “Copy that,” he replied to Corey. “Carry on with your mission. I'm on the way. Bossman to Groundwatch,” he called.

“Go for Ground, this is Vee,” he could tell Tully was moving quick.

“Vee, are you on the way up there?” he asked, already moving to the ATV normally used by the response unit.

“Affirmative,” Vicki Tully replied. “Be there in about one minute.”

“Roger that. I'm on my way as well,” he informed her as Jose Juarez ran up and jumped into the shotgun seat. “Be there right behind you.”

Two clicks of the mike were his only reply.

“What the hell, now?” Jose groused as Clay engaged the transmission and tore out for the hill.

“I got a feeling it's more of the same,” Clay told him. “I had hoped this was settled, but apparently that would be too much of a good thing.”

***

“Callie,” Clay said as he pulled up. Callie Weston was outside with her own son, looking a little pale.

“Mister Sanders,” she nodded.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I have no idea what I am at the moment,” she shook her head.

“I understand,” he nodded. “In a minute I'm going to send someone else out here to take the ATV and go fetch your housemates. I'd like for you and your little gentleman here,” he winked at her son, “to go with them. I think we’ll need all of you back here for this. Let them know no one is hurt so there's no reason to panic, okay?” He hoped no one was hurt even as he said it.

“Okay,” she nodded. “I don't know what the hell is going on in there,” she admitted.

“Well, why don't I go and find out,” he patted her shoulder. “Just wait here a minute.” He took a deep breath and stepped inside, Jose right on his heels.

“-no right to come in here interfering!” Malitha George was saying as they got inside. “And now here you come!” she added, seeing Clay.

“Here I come,” Clay nodded. “Vee, you golden?”

“Shiny,” Vicki nodded. “Nothing happened since I got here but harsh words and hard looks,” she added.

“Take the ATV and Miss Weston, please, and go pick up the other moms who live here,” he instructed her. “Let them know that nothing has happened to their children, we just need them back here. Nothing has happened to them, right?” he asked Kandi.

“Not that I've been made aware of,” she replied with a shake of her head, ponytail swishing behind her.

“Get on that,” he ordered Vicki, who sketched a salute and headed outside.

“Miss Malitha, you want to tell me what in tarnation is going on up here?” Clay asked next.

“You sent an abomination into our midst, that's what's happening up here!” Malitha snapped at him. “Letting that creature handle these children! I caught her red-handed with that child's diaper off!”

“She was changing a diaper,” Kandi told him. “Dirty one is still on the table,” she pointed to where a blanket was spread on the rough table, child care supplies still spread across the table.

“Is there another way to change a dirty diaper aside from removing it?” Clay asked Malitha. “I admit I don't have a wealth of experience in child care.”

“You think this is a joke?” Malitha demanded. “That abomination was abusing that child!”

“That's a serious accusation, Mrs. George,” Clay's face hardened. “I hope you aren't just making that up out of anger. And before you say anything else, know that one of my men has already taken Leighton and the baby in question to the clinic. Now, knowing that, do you want to maybe change your story any? Back away from that accusation and maybe tell us what's really in your craw?” As if I don't already know, he didn't add.

“I know what I saw!” she all but screeched.

“I think . . . is Lila here?” he asked, cutting himself off.

“Yes sir!” a muffled squeak called from upstairs.

“Lila, can you maintain with the other kids until the rest get back?” he called.

“Yes sir!” Lila called back.

“Then let’s take this outside and away from where any of these kids can hear it,” Clay ordered. “The kids old enough for school will be home any minute and they are not going to walk into this mess.”

“It's my job to manage this place and care for these children!” Malitha all but yelled.

“Yeah, I think we may be revisiting that decision. Pancho, call down and get some more help up here. Maybe have a couple of women walk the kids up and stay here with them. Security class is out so there should be someone around that can come up.”

“On it,” Jose reached for his radio.

“Outside, Mrs George,” Clay's tone brooked no argument. “You too, Miss Ledford.” Kandi didn't hesitate and walked outside as soon as Clay ordered her to. Malitha George did hesitate, trying to find a reason or way to stay, but ultimately knew she couldn't and walked as slowly as possible to the door and then outside.

“Knew it was too good to be true,” Clay muttered before following them out.

***

“Plate, this is Pancho, how copy?”

“Go for Plate,” Deuce replied at once. They were all on edge after hearing Corey's call.

“I need you to call Captain Thatcher to the radio room, please,” Jose ordered. “We need her help.”

“Roger that, wait one,” Deuce replied, grabbing the schedule behind him. He was pretty sure . . . yep, Thatcher was working the clinic. He looked at Millie.

“Please go and ask Doctor Thatcher to come to radio room, please.” She nodded and left at once.

“Pancho, be advised, Doctor Thatcher is in the clinic. We have someone bringing her here now.”

“Copy that. Also contact Deputy Holloway and ask him to contact us as well.”

“Copy that, will do.” Deuce was really concerned now. Even as he prepared to call for Greg on another frequency, Thatcher stepped inside.

“Someone needed me?” she said.

“Yes ma'am,” Deuce nodded. “Pancho called wanting to speak to you. Here you are, Ma'am,” he handed her the proper mike.

“Pancho, go for Thatcher,” she said simply.

“Doctor, has Miss Leighton arrived with the child?” Pancho asked.

“Affirmative,” Thatcher frowned, remembering how Leighton had barged in with one of the younger security staff on her heels.

“Have you examined the child, Doctor?”

“Negative. The child appeared to be fine,” Thatcher's frown increased. “I wasn't informed there was anything wrong.”

“There may not be,” Pancho's voice sounded tight. “We need you to examine the child and determine if there is any evidence whatsoever that the child has been abused in any way, especially recently. Be advised the child may show evidence of abuse in the past, but we are only interested in something that could have happened in the last day or so. If Kait is on duty she can explain the children's history if you aren't aware of it. Please do this immediately and let us know what you find. Time is of the essence.”

“Understood,” Thatcher replied crisply, eyes narrowing. “I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.” She set the microphone down and returned to the clinic to find Trudy Leighton cursing.

“-dare that old bitch accuse me of something like that!” Jaylyn Thatcher realized then that Leighton could hear everything that was said over the young soldier's radio.

“Take it easy, Trudy,” Jaylyn raised a hand in supplication. “No one down here, at least none of us who know and tolerate you, will believe that for a second.”

“Tolerate is it?” Trudy sounded put upon.

“Trudy, you do have to admit you come across kinda rough,” Jaylyn was trying to calm the situation with sideways humor.

“Well, I get treated that way a lot,” Trudy semi-defended.

“I imagine that to be true,” Jaylyn admitted, taking the baby from her. “And what's your name, sweetie?” she almost cooed at the child, shocking Corey Raynard to his bones. She must have noticed because she shot him a glance.

“What?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “It's a baby. Babies are adorable.”

“No argument from me, Ma'am,” Corey promised.

“What's your name, soldier?” she asked.

“Corey, Ma'am. Corey Raynard. Call sign Ray.”

“Well, Ray, I need you to stay with me, and Trudy I need you to step outside. No, don't say anything else right now, okay?” she ordered when Trudy started to object. “I know what's going on, but they seem to be doing everything by the book. I've learned enough about Clayton Sanders to know that he's methodical. If he thinks this is needed, it isn't necessarily because he thinks you're guilty. From the sound of it, I'd say he thinks the opposite and is looking for me to confirm it, but that's just a guess on my part. You being in here while I do this will undermine that, so just go. Wait outside, or even outdoors if you'd like some fresh air. I’ll take a look at this little cutie,” she smiled at the baby, “and then we can talk if you need to.”

“Her name is Tammy,” a subdued Trudy told her. “At least that's the name she was given here. No one knows what her real name was or who her parents were. She's a good baby,” she added softly.

“She seems like it,” Jaylyn agreed. “Go ahead, now,” she ordered gently. “It won't take long.”

It seemed like a very long walk to the door for Trudy Leighton.

***

Greg Holloway fought not to swear. He was standing in the clinic with Doctor Thatcher, being informed of her exam.

“There is absolutely no indication of abuse of any kind outside some old injuries that are at least six months old in my estimation. And no sign whatsoever of any kind of sexual abuse, ever,” she added grimly. “Something like that on a baby her age and size . . . it could never be hidden or disguised.”

“I see,” Greg let out a long breath. “Is it okay for the child to stay here for the moment? Until I can get this sorted?”

“Of course,” she agreed at once.

“Corey, you okay to hang here, too?” Greg asked.

“Yes sir,” he nodded.

“I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

***

“What is going on out here?” Franklin George demanded, seeing his wife facing off against Clayton Sanders and two others.

“That foul abomination has-,” Malitha began but was cut off by Clay.

“That, is, enough!” he ground out, beginning to lose his temper. “I have heard all the name calling I intend to put up with! As for what is going on, Mister Franklin, we're waiting for the Doctor's report on one of the children from the orphanage. Miss Malitha has accused Trudy Leighton of abusing the child.”

“Well, it was only a matter of time,” Franklin declared. “Since you refused to-,”

“How about we go with innocent until proven guilty, hm?” Clay cut him off as well. “All Miss Malitha declared was that she caught Miss Leighton with the baby's diaper off. A dirty diaper, Mister George,” he stressed when Franklin's eyes narrowed. “A diaper she was changing. And there is bountiful evidence to that fact, just so you know.”

“A woman such as that has no business changing a child's diaper,” he didn't quite growl.

“Wow, you just don't quit, do you,” Jose shook his head slowly. “The fact that she made a different life choice from yours does not make her a pedophile, Mister George. Most pedophiles prey on the opposite sex, by the way. And in child abuse cases in general, over ninety percent of the victims know their attacker at least by sight and usually by name. Most have at least some familiarity with their attacker as well.”

“And how would you know that?” Franklin demanded.

“They teach it in college social courses,” Jose informed him. “I may look like an ignorant imbecile, but it's only a look.”

“Enough,” Clay said softly to his friend. “We're waiting . . . ” he trailed off as a golf cart driven by Greg Holloway pulled up. The former deputy got off the cart and walked over to them standing apart from everyone there.

“Miss Malitha, let’s you and I go inside and you tell me what exactly happened, okay?” he said gently. “Rest of you can wait here,” he ordered.

“There's no need for us to go inside,” Malitha raised her head. “I will say what I have to say right here! I caught that foul creature sexually abusing a helpless infant! An abomination sent up here by him!” she pointed at Clay.

“What was she doing, exactly?” Greg asked, pen poised over his notebook. He decided not to push for privacy. He could already see where this was going.

“I just told you she was abusing that child!”

“I need to know details, Miss Malitha,” Greg informed her. “I need you to tell me exactly what she was doing. Describe to me in detail what she was doing to the child.”

“I reckon I know child abuse when I see it!” she was suddenly not as loud.

“I'm sure you do, ma'am,” Greg nodded. “But I'm going to have to write this up and so I need details. Please describe to me exactly what Miss Leighton was doing when you caught her.”

“Miss Leighton is it?” Franklin interrupted. “You're addressing her awfully politely for a child molester,” he semi-accused.

“Training, Mister George,” Greg told him, politely. “Miss Malitha, I need you to describe to me what you saw Miss Leighton doing to the child. I have to have that information to proceed.”

“My word for what happened should be all that's needed against such a creature as that!” Malitha replied haughtily.

“I'm afraid that's not how the law works, Miss Malitha,” Greg said gently. “We have to work according to the evidence. Please tell me what it was, exactly, you saw happening.”

“I saw her sexually abusing that child!” Malitha retorted.

“How, ma'am?” Greg asked.

“What do you mean 'how'?” she asked, wary.

“I need to know what she was doing, exactly, Miss Malitha,” he pressed. “In what way was the abuse sexual in nature?”

Malitha opened her mouth, but then closed it abruptly. Greg waited a few seconds before lowering his pen and notebook.

“She wasn't abusing the baby, was she Miss Malitha?” he asked sadly.

“If Malitha says she was abusing that child then she was!” Franklin chimed in, angry. “I don't appreciate your insinuation, either, young man!”

“Anything you want to say before I respond, Miss Malitha?” Greg asked her carefully. When he got no reply, he looked at Franklin.

“Doctor Thatcher just completed a full exam of the child in question, Mister George,” he said calmly. “She did find signs of abuse,” he added carefully. From the corner of his eye he saw Malitha George's head come up.

“I knew it!” she almost crowed. Triumphant.

“So you owe Malitha an apology, then, I expect,” Franklin sounded angry.

“Abuse that was a minimum of six months old,” Greg closed the jaws of his trap without fanfare. “Abuse that has completely healed and was in no way sexual in nature. Physical abuse the child suffered before coming here to live, Mister George. A child with a clean diaper and fresh baby powder on her.” He looked at Malitha George.

“You saw her changing a diaper, Miss Malitha,” his voice showed his disappointment in someone he had always known to be trustworthy. “You lied, Mrs. George.”

Clay fought the urge to explode. This could have blown into a horrible scene before anyone could stop it, had Kandi Ledford not walked in on it in progress.

“She should not be around these children,” Malitha George's voice was brittle. Angry.

“Sounds more to me like you shouldn't be around them,” Clay said flatly. “She hasn't done anything wrong, while you just accused someone of one of the most horrible crimes known to man. Falsely accused I should say. Proven false, not just hearsay.” He paused as the ATV rolled up, young mothers aboard and looking concerned. Clay struck as soon as the engine was off.

“Callie Weston,” he called.

“Sir?” the young woman stood straighter almost on instinct.

“Where are you working now?” he asked gently.

“In the seed garden with Mrs. Sanders,” she told him.

“That's where you work starting tomorrow, Mrs. George,” Clay ordered. “Callie, starting tomorrow you’ll be staying here at the orphanage. It will be you, Lila and Trudy Leighton on most days, though it will change in occasion. Any questions?” he asked the girl.

“No sir,” she shook her head even as Franklin George began protesting.

“That's not your decision to make!”

“It is now, thanks to Miss Malitha,” Clay replied evenly.

“I’ll just see Leon about that!” Franklin threatened.

“You won't for the foreseeable future,” Clay shot him down. “Miss Malitha almost pushed him into a heart attack a couple days ago. He's on enforced bed rest, well chair rest I guess, and a strict no visitor policy until further notice. Doctor's orders. Gordon did say if any of you had a complaint you wanted to take to Leon you could bring it to him. But my decision stands. You're finished at the Orphanage, Miss Malitha. Ladies,” he turned to the other three moms. “If you all continue doing as well as you have been, then it's entirely possible that your assignments may change, or not. I chose Miss Weston because she happened to be the first one here today, not due to any favoritism.

“If the four of you are agreeable to it, we may try to work out a schedule where all of you get at least one if not two days a week working here at the orphanage. That would also mean that you would float between jobs, as well, but on a rotating shift of sorts. Talk among yourselves tonight and decide if that's something you're interested in. Let me know either tomorrow or the next day. Fair enough?”

A chorus of 'yes sirs' answered him.

“I still say that's not up to you!” Franklin objected.

“You're obviously ignoring what just happened here, Mister George,” Clay told him. “This could have caused a terrible incident, a false accusation like this. What if it had? What if someone had attacked Miss Leighton, believing the lie that Mrs. George told? Do you realize that she would have been responsible for whatever happened, right along with whoever did anything?”

“You can't hold her responsible for something others do!”

“I can when her words incite them to action,” Clay said firmly. “We can't afford this kind of thing, Mister George. We just can't. We have to stick together and watch out for one another. Do you not realize even now how bad this could have been? This could have made it unsafe for Miss Leighton to even move around. She wouldn't have been able to feel safe even in her own home. How would you like to not feel safe in your home, Mister George? What if someone accused you of something so heinous?”

“I'm not anything like that sinful, Godforsaken excuse of a-,”

“Enough,” Clay's voice was harsh and most of the people standing there jumped. “I have heard all of that shit I aim to listen to. Both of you get gone from here and I don't want to see or hear you back. I don't want to hear of you accusing Miss Leighton of anything else, either. Nor do I want to hear 'rumors' of any kind going around about this,” he swept his gaze over the entire group.

“Anyone responsible for spreading such rumors may well find themselves looking for a new place to live. I will not have that kind of division and discord sowed here. That means starting now, by the way. Miss Leighton lives here and will be returning to her home this afternoon. She will continue working in the orphanage until and unless something that requires her attention more urgently comes up, at which time she may be reassigned. But she had better not have any more trouble of this kind, am I understood? That doesn't actually require an answer, since I had better be understood,” he raised a hand to ward off replies.

“I'm sure my mother will be glad to see you in the morning, Mrs. George,” he added. “You two can spend the day complaining to each other about me. Now that is all. Ladies, I'm sure you want to get cleaned up and have some time with your children,” he told the four moms who lived at the orphanage. “I don't blame you. I trust that this issue is settled in a way that puts your minds at ease?” All four nodded, not knowing whether they should speak or not.

“Outstanding,” Clay clapped his hands, again making several people jump. “I'd say we're done here, then. Greg, thank you for handling this so quickly. I need to go and speak to Miss Leighton and thank Doctor Thatcher for working so swiftly as well. I will have Miss Leighton bring the baby back to you as she comes, ladies,” he informed the orphanage occupants. “All of you please have a pleasant evening.”

Dismissing them all, he moved to the ATV, Jose moving to take shotgun again.

“Hang around up here for a bit,” Clay told Vicki Tully softly. “Even in the orphanage until Leighton returns with the child. Make sure there's no further problems.”

“Roger that,” Vicki nodded. “Have Corey bring her back if I'm going to be inside,” she suggested.

“Was going to,” he agreed. “Good move. See you later.”

***

“As if we didn't have enough problems,” Jose said once they were clear of the Hill.

“I know, right?” Clay snorted. “Ain't it great? Never a dull moment around here, boy.”

“That could have been something much worse than it was,” Jose was shaking his head. “Of all the stupid things to do!”

“Yep. We’ll have to keep a close eye on things up here for several days. I think I will appoint Corey to hang out around the Hill for the next week or so. He's almost healed, but not quite completely. Another week should see him able to re-qualify, so he can spend this week getting himself ready and working up here. We’ll add that as an addition to Ground Watch. Make that happen, subordinate,” he said loftily as he grinned at his friend.

“Yes, oh Great One,” Jose made a swirling motion before him from forehead to chin.

“Have you guys been planning that?”

***

“Just so you know,” Corey Raynard reported in person after returning Leighton to the Hill with the child. “The Georges, two of the women from the Orphanage, Carlene Goodrum and John Webb are all heading this way in a group.”

“Are you shitting me?” Clay groaned.

“Sorry Boss,” Corey shook his head.

“Thanks,” he told Corey. “Do me a favor and find Newell and Ledford, and get them down here. Take the ATV and pick up Tully while you're at it. Hustle.”

“On it,” Corey promised, running back out the door. Clay stepped inside the radio room.

“Roust the response unit and have them standing by outside,” he told JJ.

“On it,” the teen nodded, reaching for the radio. Clay walked back outside, wishing he could go back to Africa. Things were so much simpler there. Harder maybe, but so much simpler.

“Problems?” he heard Greg Holloway's voice and almost smiled.

“I have a miniature mob on the way down the Hill,” he told his friend.

“Let me guess,” Greg snorted. “Led by the Georges no doubt?”

“You really are incredibly bright for a Marine,” Clay affected a look of surprise.

“What's going on?” Gordy asked, stepping inside already geared up. Clay explained quickly, finishing it with; “Probably nothing to worry about, but this day has not been kind to me from about four o'clock on.”

“I hear ya,” Gordy nodded. “I’ll be outside. Mitchell is on a circuit but Titus will be down shortly.”

“Good to know,” Clay slapped Gordy's shoulder. “Go ahead and I’ll be out in a second. You guys just stay around the edge with Sienna, Vicki and Kandi. They may not be coming here, you know. Might be going to see your grandmother.”

“More like to enlist her aid,” Gordy snorted before walking back outside.

“Man, I thought things were coming together pretty good, too,” Greg sighed.

“So did I,” Clay agreed. “I have no idea where this is going to end, but I do know we can't back down. If we give in, then the next time there's something someone doesn't like, like an interracial marriage for instance, then we’ll have to go through this again.”

“What's wrong with interracial marriages?” Beverly Jackson asked from behind them. Clay almost groaned but caught it in time.

“Nothing,” he turned to smile at her. “I was just using it as an example of how people see things they don't like. Right now it's a certain same-sex couple. I was saying if I give in to mob attitude on that, then I’ll be expected to the next time when something different came up. Which was when I used interracial marriage as an example,” he explained, or hoped he did.

“Hm,” she nodded, clearly thinking. “I don't understand the issue about Trudy and Gwen,” she said after a moment. “I mean, this is the twenty-first century. People should be accustomed to these issues. And legally, all of this has been hammered out in court. I realize the courts are adjourned at the moment, but still.”

“I know,” Clay sighed. “And we’ll abide by it regardless. But in the meantime, I have a small mob descending on me, led by Franklin and Malitha George. Oh, and John Webb is among them apparently, just FYI.”

“Is he now?” that caught Beverly's attention. “Excuse me. I need to make a call.” She ducked into the radio room, leaving Clay and Greg exchanging looks.

***

Clay had been right partially correct. The small 'mob' had not come directly to see him but had instead stopped at his boyhood home to enlist his mother in their effort. Thus it was that she was stalking right alongside the Georges when the group came into view. Apparently they had gotten two for the price of one, as Marla Jones was also among their number. Clay let them come to him, Greg Holloway and Jose Juarez standing with him. Beverly Jackson was also with them, having quietly joined them outside after making her call.

“Where are the torches and pitchforks?” Clay asked as the group descended on him.

“You think this is a joke?” his mother asked angrily.

“I think it's hilarious,” Clay nodded. “I had just finished laughing when you got to where you could hear me. The psychic in me pretty much knows why you're here, but go ahead,” he waved a hand. “Lay it on me.”

“We will not stay here so long as that woman is allowed to interact with those children,” Franklin George declared and every head nodded.

Clay had to work to hide his surprise. He had expected an ultimatum, especially with his mother joining in, but not this. It was like an early Christmas gift. Well, a gift card anyway.

“Well, we’ll miss you, but you gotta do what you gotta do,” he said calmly. “Where will you go?”

“What?” more than one voice asked.

“Were you planning on going to Jordan?” Clay asked as if the decision were already made. “That's where I would go if I were you. We can probably give you a ride in. Can we manage that tonight?” he looked at Jose.

“Morning would be better, but we can if we have to,” Jose answered. “Want me to get a team together?”

“Now wait just a damn minute!” Franklin George finally caught up. “We ain't leaving, she is!”

“No, she's not,” Clay declared flatly. “No one is going to be run out of here over a damn lie,” he looked dead at Malitha George who at least had the shame to look away.

“You saying she ain't a homosexual?” John Webb demanded. Clay ignored him as beneath his time.

“So, you folks want to go tonight or not?” Clay asked. “Mom, I assume you don't really aim to leave, do you?”

“Clayton Sanders, this is going to stop right now!” Angela made her demand known. “They have the right to not have-,”

“Are you going with them or not?” Clay cut her off smoothly. “I've been round and round the mulberry bush about this and I'm not doing it again. Miss Malitha made a demonstrably false statement this afternoon, falsely accusing Trudy Leighton of molesting a child. Before the Storm, that would be enough to get you sued for all you own, and a jail sentence. Could have resulted in some hothead attacking Miss Leighton, believing the information to be accurate, when it wasn't. Your credibility with me is pretty thin after that. Same goes for the rest of you.” He saw Trisha Bonham and Joselyn Moore, two of the women from the orphanage, mixed into the crowd.

“You two decide to go as well?” he asked.

“We don't feel comfortable with that woman working around our children,” Bonham said coldly. “She has to go.”

“So you are leaving, then,” Clay nodded, pretending not to have heard.

“That ain't what she said!” John Webb shouted.

“You're going anyway,” Clay turned his head to look directly at the younger man. “You were already on your last, last chance as I recall. This would be it. Gather your things because your time here has ended.”

“You can't do that!” John, Malitha and at least two more exclaimed.

“I can and I am,” Clay informed them. “I told you this afternoon I was sick of hearing about this. The world has damn near stopped turning, people are starving, children dying and you bunch are up in arms about something as ridiculous as this? We can end this problem here and we will. Those of you who simply cannot stand to stay here so long as the couple in question are here, raise your hands.” Surprisingly, most of the hands still went up.

“Marla, you aim to leave too?” he asked Lainie's grandmother. The older woman just glowered at him. Clay looked to another face in the crowd.

“Mrs. Goodrum, is you whole family going, or is it just you? I need to know how many seats we’ll need.”

“Angela, fix this!” Franklin all but hissed. Angela looked at him, but then back to Malitha. Clearly she had not been told the entire story.

“I . . . I hadn't planned on actually leaving,” Carlene Goodrum stammered. “Darrell doesn't . . . he's not even . . . ”

“Doesn't know you're here?” Clay helped her and she nodded.

“Then you probably ought to go on home and forget all this, hadn't you?” he asked, kindly though a bit condescending. She nodded jerkily even as the others tried to convince her to stay.

“Corey!” Clay called and the younger man was there in an instant.

“Make sure Mrs. Goodrum gets home safely, please.”

“Yes sir,” Corey almost stood at attention and then showed Carlene Goodrum to the golf cart nearby.

“Carlene are you going . . . are you not gonna stick up for what's right?” Malitha all but demanded.

“You . . . you said this would work and we'd be home in a few minutes,” Carlene stammered back. “I can't leave here and if Darrell finds out I was threatening for us to leave . . . he’ll be furious!” Without waiting to see what happened or was said next, she followed Corey to the cart and was soon on her way home.

“All right,” Clay once more clapped his hands, an action he had picked up from Leon he supposed. “I would imagine all of you need time to pack so . . . we’ll call it eight in the morning?” he looked at Jose who nodded in agreement. “Okay, then,” he turned back to the rest. “Eight it is. We’ll have a truck that can carry belongings and another vehicle for you to ride in. I'm sure you’ll be welcome in Jordan, especially since they’ll still be planting after getting most of the ground around town plowed for a garden today. I miss anything?” he looked around him.

“So you just aim to kick us all out?” Marla found her voice.

“That's not what's happening,” Clay shook his head. “You all said you were leaving unless I kicked someone else out. Since I'm not going to do that, and no one else is either now that I think on it, I guess that means you are all going. I have to assume you will make good on your threat. I mean, you did it intending to pressure me into doing something wrong, didn't you? So if you don't follow through then your great stand for what's right, your demonstration of power, will all be for naught.” He would admit later that he was enjoying this much more than he should have been.

“Gregory, are you really going along with this?” Angela asked.

“Mrs. Sanders, a crime was committed this afternoon, but it wasn't by Trudy Leighton,” Greg replied respectfully. “The accusation was a complete and total lie, and that's been proven. Miss Leighton did nothing wrong. She was the victim of a heinous accusation. One that would have been considered a hate crime before the Storm. If you're asking me if I'm going along with the innocent not being punished over a lie, then yes ma'am. I am.”

“Malitha, did you really lie about this?” Angela asked. She had been caught by surprise at that. She had followed assuming her presence might help. It hadn't.

“I did what needed to be done,” Malitha actually had the audacity to look proud. “I took action when no one else would!”

“You mean you lied,” Clay said flatly, robbing her sails of any wind. “And the rest of you followed her, even knowing it was a lie. Well, Mom and Marla excepted I suppose. I know the two of you knew it, because I told you,” he added to Bonham and Moore.

“I didn't know it!” John Webb protested.

“Tough shit,” Clay told him with a snort. “You knew this little lynch mob was wrong, didn't you? Should have stayed at home.”

“You can't punish him for trying to do what's right!” Franklin George protested.

“You mean by railroading someone?” Clay scoffed. “Please. There's nothing right about this, Franklin George. And to make it worse, it had to come from two of the people I respected the most,” he added sadly. “If someone had accused you two of something like this to me, I would have flat out called them a liar. I guess that would have made me wrong, wouldn't it?”

“So then. One, two, three, four, five, six . . . and . . . five kids,” he finished. “So eleven seats in all. We’ll have to carry at least two rigs for that,” he told Jose. “We need to get Kandi Ledford down here, too. We’ll have to gather supplies for them to take with them. We can't send them to Jordan and have them be a burden.”

“Wait until we tell everyone in Jordan all about how you're sitting on all that food way out here,” John Webb sneered. Before he could blink, Clay was in his face, pistol point blank between John's eyes.

“Are you threatening me?” Clay's voice was like ice. “I've killed men for less than that,” he added. It almost sounded as if he were singing a lullaby. It made those who had never heard it before shiver.

“W-w-w-what?” Webb stammered, all his bravado gone.

“I think I need to get rid of you permanent like, don't I, John Boy?” Clay's voice was a loud whisper. “You've been a pain in my ass for far too long as it is. This gives me an excellent excuse to just end you, right here. Don't it?”

“Clay,” Jose said gently, moving slowly to his friend's side. He recognized the warning signs no one else knew.

“You think you're so tough, don't you,” Clay continued as if Jose hadn't spoken. “All that mouth, but,” he looked behind John quickly, “no ass. Nothing to back those big, bad words up with, huh?” The pistol barrel trailed down John Webb's nose to rest on his lips. Without warning Clay shoved the pistol barrel into his mouth, Webb almost gagging on the barrel. He felt liquid run down his legs as he lost control of his bladder.

“Clay,” Jose spoke again. He reached very slowly and took Clay's left arm. “Let’s just send him off, Clay. To Jordan I mean,” he hastily corrected to avoid a misunderstanding.

“Clay, c'mon man,” Greg tried next. “I know he's a bitch-boy but he ain't worth the effort here, brother. Let it ride and let him go run his mouth. He ain't nothin'.”

“No, he's a problem,” Clay's voice was distant. “I got too many problems. Far too many problems. What's that song again? Ninety-nine problems, but you,” he eared back the hammer on his pistol suddenly, “you ain't one. At least you won't be here in a minute.”

“Clay for fuck's sake, stop!” Jose's voice grew louder, more desperate. “You don't want to do this!”

“I really do,” Clay didn't look at him. Never took his eyes from John Webb's.

“He already pissed his pants, man,” Greg added. Strangely, no one else had anything to say. The pall of fear hung heavily in the air around them.

“Smells like more than that,” Beverly Jackson of all people spoke up. “Clayton, I don't know what's going through your mind right now, but you need to remember where you are. This isn't Africa, or the Philippines. It's not Argentina or Venezuela, either. You're at home. This is your home, Clay, not somewhere out in the middle of nowhere in a war zone. You need to come home. You need to come home and you need to do it right now.”

Greg was amazed at how her voice sounded. Even Jose had hesitated as she spoke. It was almost hypnotic. Whatever it was affected Clay as well because he ever so slowly removed his pistol from John Webb's mouth, stopping as the muzzle cleared his lips and pressing it to his nose.

“If I ever have to do this again, I’ll kill you,” he spoke so soft only John Webb, Jose, Greg and Beverly could hear him. “You ever threaten my home again, I’ll kill you. I may decide to kill you just for looking at me. I've done that before, you know. So maybe it's better that you're leaving, huh?”

Quick as a flash he pulled the pistol back, then fired a shot up in the air, angled to land in the field across the road. John Webb cried out and fell to the ground, making some of the people think he'd actually been shot.

“Damn,” Greg looked down at John Webb, his pants wet and now soiled. “How about you let me hold that for you for a bit?” he said to Clay, taking hold of the pistol. Clay released it without a fight, then looked at the others as if the last few seconds hadn't happened.

“So eight o'clock in the morning then, right?”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“I see what you meant about Clay.”

Beverly spoke softly as she stood with Mitchell Nolan in front of Building Two. Clay was gone, leaving Jose in charge with Greg Holloway to support him. Gordon and Robert Sanders had both shown up, surprising everyone by throwing their whole hearted support behind Clay's decision. Franklin had at once started arguing with Gordon, who stayed calm despite the language flowing. Gary Meecham had also shown up, having been called by Beverly once she realized John Webb was part of the problem. He had immediately endorsed getting rid of John, even at the expense of alienating the remaining members of the Webb family.

“How so?” Mitchell asked. He had missed what was happening because he had been making the rounds on patrol. The pistol shot had drawn him in.

“He is fucking terrifying,” Beverly declared bluntly as she shuddered at the memory. “On an entirely different level than Xavier Adair or Byron House. I almost peed myself listening to him and he wasn't even mad at me.”

“Now you know what keeps X in check,” Mitchell chuckled darkly. “It seems sometimes like Clay has developed a kind of camouflage. Like he has an entirely different person he . . . he wears, most of the time. The real Clay only comes out when things are getting serious. If he did all that tonight, John Webb was as close to being dead as you can come and still have a pulse.”

“And if she hadn't been here, he would be dead,” Greg Holloway said from behind them. “That was very well done, Miss Jackson,” he offered his hand, and she took it.

“Please, call me Beverly,” she told him. “After that, I feel like we've been to war together, Deputy Holloway.”

“Please call me Greg, then,” he told her. “I've seen people do that kind of thing, with their voice I mean,” he clarified, “but . . . not in real life. Just on training films. It takes on a whole new look when you see it first-hand.”

“He always was a hot-tempered little shit,” he continued, looking back to where Clay had disappeared into the growing dark. “Me, him and Jake Sidell all used to run around together when we were kids. Clay didn't know how to say no to a fight. Never had an ounce of backup in him. I blamed it on Jake always being there. Jake said it was my fault for enabling him,” he laughed. “Then Jake got a girlfriend, Clay disappeared into the Army five days after graduation and now . . . here we are again.”

“Sounds like there's more of a story there than just 'here we are again',” Beverly raised an eyebrow.

“Everybody has a story, Miss . . . Beverly,” Greg smiled again. “Thank you again for talking him down. I know him. He would have done it, I'm sure, but . . . it would have hurt him tomorrow in a way he wouldn't expect. Especially with Angela there.”

“I'm glad I was there to do it,” she nodded. Greg walked back to lend his efforts to the growing argument. She looked up at Mitchell.

“How about walking me home?” she asked him. “I know you're working but . . . I want to go home.”

“Part of the service, ma'am,” Mitchell smiled at her. Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, he started for the house.

***

“Gordon are you really going to allow this?” Angela asked.

“I'm not allowing anything,” Gordon shook his head, hands held out in front of him. “All of you marched over here and issued an ultimatum. You should have been prepared to shoulder the consequences of that act when you decided on doing it. Instead, you just assumed that Clay would give in. You were wrong and now . . . I don't know,” he looked back at the small group of people.

“I would never have imagined Malitha George being so cruel,” he shook his head. “It's likely better that they're going, considering what she did. If she’ll do it once, then she’ll do it again. Who will it be next time, Ange? And what will she accuse them of?”

“You know good and well she would never-,” she started.

“Do something like that?” Gordon interjected. “Except she did it today, and got caught. So now, I know good and well that she would. Next time it might be one of us.”

“She would never do that!” Angela almost shouted.

“She already did, once,” Gordon repeated. “That's what happens when you start something like this. You lose people's trust and then your credibility is lost. After that, no one wants to listen to you or be around you, and no one trusts that you won't do it to them. She did a truly evil thing today, Ange. I'm shocked you can't see that.”

“I agree it was wrong,” she nodded. “But if Clayton had just done what I told him, none of this would have been necessary.”

“Jesus, Ange,” Gordon exclaimed suddenly. “Did you hear what you just said? 'None of this would have been necessary'? The last thing we need around here is someone spreading lies like that! This could have led to someone dying! How necessary was that? What the hell is wrong with you!”

His wife stayed quiet, her face red at her dressing down. Maybe he had made her think. He hoped so.

“Are you going to make them leave?” she finally asked, looking back to where the Georges and the others were still arguing with Robert while John Webb was crying to Gary Meecham.

“No one made them do anything,” Gordon shrugged. “But maybe we're better off. I guess we’ll see what happens come morning.”

***

Clay had not gone home when he left the mob scene at the Troy farm. His blood was still cold and he knew that he was bad company in that condition so he pushed himself to burn away the adrenaline all the arguing had caused. He attacked the punching bag he kept in the barn with fury, hands and feet flying as he punished the canvas bag.

When he stopped, wringing with sweat, he walked to the door of the barn to look outside but instead began to run. There were no lights so he used his tiny flashlight to light his way as he ran behind the barn and out into the pasture. He didn't go in any particular direction, he just went, allowing what remained of the stress and strain placed on him in recent days to bleed away.

He was not going to back down. If he got rid of the people who were leading the charge, then his stress level would go down. He needed that. He needed less problems, and one sure way to get less problems was to rid yourself of the troublemakers. He already knew his mother wouldn't like it and suspected his father wouldn't either, though his father at least might not say anything.

He wondered what Lainie would say about Marla leaving, and then thinking about Lainie made him realize how late it was and how long he'd been out of reach. And how far into nowhere he was. Shaking his head, he turned for home, trying to figure out what he would say.

***

Robert Sanders watched the small mob make their way back up the hill, shaking his head at the foolishness that had been displayed tonight. He saw his mother crying on his father's shoulder and assumed it was because of Clay refusing to budge, but held no sympathy for her. His brother had done the right thing, unpopular though it might be. She would have to deal with it.

“Well, what a fun night,” Meecham declared, fake smile plastered on his face.

“No kidding,” Robert snorted. “What do you think will happen?”

“Well, as far as I'm concerned, they can go,” Gary shrugged. “John Webb is going if I have to drive him there myself. We gave him the opportunity to change and he has quite obviously not done it. We don't owe him anything.”

“What about the rest?” Robert asked. “The Georges, for instance.”

“That lie . . . it's probably best if they go,” he shook his head slowly. “I still cannot believe she would do something like that. I have always, always thought she was one of the finest women I knew. I did not see that coming, man.”

“No one else did apparently,” Robert agreed. “I'm going home,” he said suddenly. “The excitement is over and I've already had a hard day before this started. Looks like tomorrow is coming early, too. See you.”

“Night.”

***

“You okay?” Lainie asked at once when Clay entered the house. He was breathing hard and wringing wet.

“I'm good,” he promised, stripping his boots off. “I'm going to get a shower. I assume I've let supper get cold?”

“Don't you worry about that,” Lainie told him, frowning. “Take your shower and I’ll be here waiting for you with at least a warm if not piping hot supper.”

“I don't deserve you,” he sighed.

“No one does, really,” she smirked, and he laughed for the first time in what seemed like forever.

He emerged fifteen minutes later wearing clean sweats and with his hair still damp. He found a hot meal waiting as promised and eagerly dug in, realizing only when she sat down that Lainie was just now eating as well.

“You waited for me?” he asked, frowning.

“Of course I did,” she scoffed. “I hate eating alone, even if I am a cheap date,” she grinned and he had to laugh once more.

“So, wanna tell me what happened?” she asked.

“We had sort of a revolt, I guess,” he said calmly. At her stunned look he began to bring her up to date on the afternoon and evening's proceedings.

***

“Where you going?” Leon asked without his usual rancor as Marla Jones stacked her things next to the front door.

“Your grandson is kicking me out!” she snarled at him.

“Now is that really what's happening?” he asked her.

“We went to demand he stop letting that lesbian around the children or we'd leave and he chose them over us,” she retorted.

“Well, that sounds more like you bit off more 'n you could chew, don't it?” Leon smirked. “Hate to see you go, but you gotta do what ya gotta do.”

“Is that all you have to say to me?” she demanded as Leon struggled to get to his feet. Janice was there before he could struggle more than just a second, taking his arm gently and helping him get up.

“Have a safe trip?” Leon shrugged. “Don't forget to write, maybe? What am I supposed to say?”

“You could make your grandson see reason!”

“Whose reason? Yours?” Leon asked her as he headed for his bedroom. “I've seen your reason, thanks. You're not a bad person, Marla, but you are so close minded I don't know how you learn anything new. This has been going on for days and it's got to stop. If that means some of you leaving, well . . . we’ll just have to bear up under that pressure. So like I said; have a safe trip. Take care and don't forget to write. Or maybe don't be a stranger? Though I should add don't bring other strangers here with you.”

“You ungrateful old bastard,” she muttered.

“Yeah, yeah,” Leon had heard it before. “Don't forget heathen. Don't listen to her,” he said to Janice in a stage whisper. “My parents was married when I was conceived.” He made it into his room and sat on his bed, sending Janice to get Brick. When the big man stepped inside, Leon motioned for him to close the door.

“Keep an eye out tonight,” he ordered. “Marla is apparently leaving after some kind of ruckus with Clayton, and she's got a mean streak. Make sure she don't hurt us any. Okay?”

“Of course,” Brick nodded. “I shall see to it.”

“Then I'm going to bed. Seems like Clayton has this well in hand.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

The morning was somber. Had it not been for the noise, someone might have thought it was a funeral.

A semi-trailer was backed into the house used by the George family. Titus, Heath, Zach and Kade were loading furniture and luggage inside, with help from Jake Sidell and Sienna Newell. Others kept their distance, especially the Sanders family and anyone who had been part of the previous evening’s events.

There was a much simpler scene at the orphanage where Trisha Bonham and Joselyn Moore gathered their meager belongings and those of their children. Both had been crying but they had no one to blame for the spot they were in but themselves. They had known the truth when they decided to follow Franklin and Malitha George down the hill.

John Webb had been crying to his family all morning, but was getting a decidedly cold reception from his older brothers and was being ignored completely by his widowed sisters-in-law. Neither could stand his attitude and this was the final straw in their book.

“You made your choice, Johnny,” Lucas said sadly. “You knew the deal, knew what you were doing and did it anyway. You've been acting badly since we came back here, like a dog snapping at the hands that feed you. We've talked to you, they've talked to you, and you still do this. This is on you, little brother.”

“But I didn't know!” John protested. “Mrs. George, she said-,”

“When was the last time anything here was decided by mob rule, Johnny?” Samuel asked him. “I can tell you if you don't know; never. Things are done orderly here. It may not always be the way we want, the result may not always be the one we would ask for, but it's done fairly and orderly. You knew that, didn't you.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“Worse, as far as I'm concerned, you did all this knowing it could put us in a bad way with the rest,” Lucas told him next. “A less than fair man or family might have blamed us all for your actions and then where would we be? You think anyone else would let us lay around, not contributing in any way, just because we got hurt somewhere else? I can tell you right now it ain't likely. Ain't likely at all.”

“You endangered all of us doing this, John,” Samuel nodded. “The adults are one thing, but your sister is only fifteen years old. You could have cost her the safest place she could be right now with this bullshit. You want to be treated like a grown man, you need to learn to act like one. Maybe being on your own will do that. Apparently we can't.”

A similar scene was being acted out between Lainie Harper and her grandmother.

“Just letting him kick me out,” Marla said, her voice just shy of snide. They were sitting on the front porch of Leon's house, waiting for the truck to come and get her things.

“As I understand it, you made the choice to issue an ultimatum to him,” Lainie didn't quite smirk. “How's that working out for you?”

“You think this is all some big joke, don't you?” Marla snorted. “Just like him. Well, you wait and see who has the last laugh. And you,” she shook her head. “After all I did for you? This is the thanks I get? Really?”

“You can't be serious,” Lainie scoffed. “Thanks? How about my paying off that store you were so proud of? Wasn't that thanks? That Cadillac you drove before the Storm killed it. How about that for some 'thanks', Marla. I've been damn good to you ever since I got in a position to be that way. I never forgot you or what you did to help me. Ever. But once you tried to get me to leverage my relationship with Clay for you? We were pretty much done after that.”

“So him over me,” Marla grumped.

“Ain't that the way it's supposed to be?” Leon's voice made them both jump. He eased out onto the porch with Janice Hardy holding him steady, sinking into the chair he often called his throne. I can see most of my kingdom from here, he would joke.

“Man and a woman get together, they're supposed to cling to one another,” Leon went on once he caught his breath. “Not put other people above each other. Including family,” he looked directly at Marla.

“You know this is wrong,” Marla shot back.

“No, I don't,” Leon shook his head. “I do know this is a bunch of horseshit, that I do know. Raising all this hell over something so stupid. This whole place is in an uproar over nothing but a bunch of bullshit. Tell me something, Marla,” he looked at her again. “If those women came into your store spending money, would you take it?”

“That's different!”

“Is it, now,” Leon's raspy voice chuckled. “I figured as much. You would like 'em just fine so long as it was beneficial to you. Funny how something so simple as this brings out a side of folks you ain't never seen before.”

“I could understand Josh doing as he did. Didn't like it and tried to talk him out of it, but he made his decision in anger and grief, and I know what that's like. His poor family paid the price of following him without question, and I hate that to my bones. But at least I could see his reasoning.

“But you bunch?” he shook his head. “Where is your reasoning, Marla? And Franklin and Malitha, for that matter. I thought I knew Josh, and I thought I knew you three, too. Yet here you surprise me even worse than Josh managed to. Spewing hate so vile as to accuse a young woman of being a child molester. What would you do if someone accused you of such?”

“I'm not like her!” Marla exclaimed.

“No,” Lainie agreed. “She's better than you are, apparently.”

“I'd have to agree,” Leon nodded, speaking over Marla's indignant squawk. “If you can't see how heinous Malitha's lie was, then you ain't the person I always took you for. Reckon my judgment ain't near what I always thought it was,” he said sadly, his head falling to look at the porch flooring.

“It's not your judgment, it's the people around you,” Janice surprised him by saying. “It's not your fault if they show you false colors, Mister Leon.”

“What the hell do you know, anyway?” Marla asked the teen contemptuously.

“I know what it's like to be treated as something less than human,” the girl replied evenly. “I know what it's like to be considered expendable by the people around you. Thought of as something to throw away. I know that.”

No one spoke for a while as her words echoed through their minds.

***

“But why are we leaving?” Marcy George asked yet again.

“I told you why,” Malitha replied. “They're kicking us out!”

“I can't believe that,” Marcy shook her head. “They aren't that kind of people. What brought all this on?”

“Do you want to live here with that . . . abomination living near us!”

“What?” Marcy was stunned. “What are you talking about?”

“Those two homosexuals! Living and working here, one of them even caring for children!” Malitha clucked, as if that explained everything.

“I don't care about that,” Marcy replied evenly. “It's not like they hit on me, after all. They can do as they please so long as they don't force it on me. Who cares?”

The sound of Malitha's hand hitting Marcy's jaw sounded far too loud in the nearly empty house. Marcy slowly lifted a hand to her face, rubbing it softly as she looked at her mother.

For her part, Malitha seemed to realize what she had done and looked almost shocked at herself.

“Marcy, I-,”

“Save it,” Marcy told her softly. “I'd not want to hear it.” With her mother still stammering at her, Marcy George walked outside. She spoke softly to the boys loading the truck as she passed them by.

“Don't load anything from my room until I get back,” she told Titus Terry.

“Uh . . . okay?” Titus looked at her quizzically.

Marcy didn't elaborate as she stalked away from the Square and down the Hill toward the Troy farm.

***

“Heads up, Boss,” Nate Caudell said softly. “You got company.”

Clay looked up to see Marcy George stalking her way toward them, more determined than he'd ever seen her before.

“Well, shit,” he breathed rather than said as he stood. He hadn't counted on this, but in hindsight he should have. Marcy was sixteen, probably soon be seventeen. Grown up enough to have her say, or so she'd figure. Apparently she was coming to do just that. She never slowed until she was right in front of Clay, then came to an abrupt halt before him, looking him directly in the eye.

“Do I have to go?”

Caught completely by surprise, Clay could only form a one word response.

“Huh?” This was not what he'd been expecting.

“Can I stay?” Marcy asked him plainly. “I don't want to go. To Jordan I mean. Or anywhere else.”

“What happened to your face, Marcy?” Nate asked her. The girl's hand immediately went to her jaw before she could stop it.

“Nothing.”

“Marcy, what happened to you?” Nate pressed softly. He liked Marcy George. She was strong willed and high spirited, never afraid to get her hands dirty or to tackle a tough job.

“My mother hit me,” she admitted just as quietly. “I was complaining about leaving and . . . I don't care about those two. Gwen and Trudy, I mean,” she clarified. “I mean, who cares what they get up to in private? That ain't none of my business. But . . . this has become my home,” she looked back to Clay. “I love my parents, but . . . they've lost their damn minds. I'm not giving up my home for that.”

“What about your brother and sister, Marcy?” Clay asked gently. He was struggling and trying to hide it. He didn't know what to do.

“I’ll miss them,” she nodded, wiping a tear from the corner of one eye. “But if I married and moved away, I'd miss them anyway. If I had gone to college, I'd have missed them. It ain't that far. Long as nothing don't happen to us, I’ll see them again.”

“Marcy, I'm not trying to discourage you, but this is a big step, and I'm afraid it's one you won't be able to come back from,” Clay explained. “I need to know you've put enough thought into this. That you understand what you're doing. What you're giving up.”

“What I'm not giving up is all the hard work I've put in here,” she told him flatly. “You know as well as I do this is all bullshit.” Her face darkened at her use of profanity but she held her ground. “I've worked hard since I got here. I'm still working hard. And I'm not going to be told I have to surrender all that, be smacked in the face even, just because two lesbians move into the neighborhood. Hell, there were lesbians in school with us! No one raised all this hell back then.”

Clay couldn't find any holes in that logic. His body screaming reluctance, he turned to Nate.

“Take Vicki with you and maybe roust Sienna,” he ordered. “Go with her. She does her own talking, you're just there for moral support.” He turned back to face Marcy as Nate went to get his assistant moral supporters.

“Make sure you know what you're doing,” he told her. “You are welcome here so long as you want to be here, and don't cause problems. You never have, and until you do I'm going to assume you’ll keep on that way.”

“You’ll have to tell your parents and your siblings,” he specified. “Nate and the others are there to support you, that's all. Just in case. You can stay where you are, but know you’ll probably have roommates soon. We need the room if it's available.”

“Can I keep my room?” Marcy asked, a hint of teenage girl peeking out after all.

“I would imagine you can,” Clay nodded solemnly. “Meanwhile, you better go with them,” he pointed to where Nate had called Vicki and they were waiting, “and get this done. Don't be surprised when your folks have a meltdown.”

“Don't worry. I won't.”

***

Nate Caudell was on edge as he followed Marcy George back up the hill. He wasn't looking forward to her parent's reaction. Still, he had to admire the girl for sticking up for herself and what she wanted. Most teens would have followed their parent's lead, regardless of their own feelings. Clearly, Marcy George was not most teens.

Franklin and Malitha George were standing outside the house when Marcy arrived, arguing with everyone in general and Titus Terry in particular.

“She said not to,” Titus was shaking his head.

“And I said you get to work loading that room!” Franklin all but bellowed in the teen's face.

“No sir,” Titus stayed firm. “She said not to until she got back. So we wait.”

“Thank you, Titus,” Marcy said, interrupting anything else her father would have said. Titus simply nodded to her and stepped back a bit. While he didn't know exactly what was going on, he did know it wasn't any of his business, and he didn't need to be so close.

“Marcy Loretta George, you get in there and start bringing your things out here to this truck,” Franklin ordered. Malitha was unusually silent, her eyes damp.

“No sir,” Marcy shook her head slowly. “I'm not going with you,” she decided to cut straight to the chase.

“Wha-,” Franklin almost goggled at her. “You most certainly are going with us!”

“No, I'm not,” Marcy stood a little straighter as she spoke. “You hit me,” she looked then to her mother. “Not because I was disobedient, or because I'd done something or said something wrong, but because I expressed an opinion that was different from yours.” She turned back to her father.

“I have no idea what's going through your minds, and I no longer care,” she told him. “I do know that no one is going to abuse me, and that includes the two of you. I've been a good daughter to you and I deserved better than to have you hit me just because you didn't like that I disagreed with you.”

“I already asked if I could stay, and the answer was yes. So no, I won't be loading my things into that truck and I won't be going with you. Period.” Next she turned to her brother and sister, who were crying silently off to the side.

“Bernetta, Malcolm, I'm sorry that I won't be with you,” she wiped away a tear that fell down her cheek. “Know that I’ll always be here for you. If you ever need me, you’ll know where to find me, okay? Don't you ever forget that, no matter what. You remember that I love you,” she hugged them tightly to her, “and that even if we're not together, I’ll still be there when you need me. I'm not deserting you. It's just time for me to go my own way, that's all. One day you’ll have to do the same thing. If you need me to help you when that day comes, you know where I’ll be.”

She was crying openly now and her sister was sobbing. Her brother was more stoic, but it was apparent he was only barely keeping it together.

“Remember I love you, always,” Marcy said once more before stepping back. She turned back to her parents.

“I wish you well, regardless of how you feel about me,” she said softly. “I hope you can let go of this hate that's consuming you.” With that she turned away, moving back the way she had come. Back to where Nate and the others stood waiting. She ignored her father's yelling and her mother's crying. She even ignored her brother and sister bawling, though it was a hard thing for her to do.

She had made her choice.

***

The group loaded silently aboard the two six-wheel Cougars. There were no goodbyes, no well wishes, no platitudes. The good will that had permeated the group, the entire farm, since the cookout was nowhere in evidence today.

The Webb family, sans the widowed sisters-in-law, were there to see John off despite how they had ended their earlier discussion. To them, family was family, even when family was stupid and stubborn and couldn't be taught anything. He alternated between being sorrowful, surly and angry, sometimes all within the space of a minute.

Lainie watched from the pad as Marla climbed aboard the second Cougar, refusing to walk the distance to say goodbye. Marla had made her bed and now she would have to sleep there. Trying to use Lainie against Clay had been the last straw for the granddaughter, no matter how much she loved Marla or how grateful she was for her help long years ago.

Bonham and Moore were already aboard with their children, still crying over their situation but unable to change it. They had known better. Known the truth but had allowed the Georges to sway them into their protest. Their attempt to coerce Clay Sanders into doing what they wanted. They had been in a good place with the promise of doing better, and they had thrown it away. For themselves and their children.

Jose Juarez had taken command of the convoy. Their first destination was the house Greg Holloway had lived in. Assuming it was still standing and still empty, it was a good place to off load. The group could stay together or not, that was up to them. If his storage container was still there then there was plenty of storage space, and the house had three bedrooms and a large living room. There were other houses too, and once in Jordan it was up to them where they chose to live.

Satisfied that everyone was loaded, Juarez made a spinning motion with his hand and the vehicles began moving.

Clay watched them go with a cold gaze. Others might feel sympathy for those leaving, or feel sorry that they were going. He did not. What he did feel was aggravation.

There was so much else to be upset over and concerned about that it truly, even now, boggled his mind how this had grown so out of control. All this fuss and bother over something so senseless. A strong group fractured by an inability to grasp reality. He shook his head as he finally looked away.

He had too many other things to worry about to bother spending time on a problem that was now on the way somewhere else.

***

The next few days would be strained, though not in any way so bad as the few days prior had been. People tread carefully around each other, avoiding the subject of those who had left and the reason for it.

Trudy Leighton and Gwen Paige had isolated themselves for a short time, cautious about trying to interact with the others since opposition to their presence had been at the heart of the disagreement. Both were more than a little hesitant in dealing with the others, expecting to be blamed for all that had happened. Trudy Leighton had gone so far as to approach Marcy George the day after her parent's departure.

Trudy had offered a hesitant apology to Marcy over her parent's departure, only to hear the teen bluntly refute her apology as unnecessary. Marcy informed her in no uncertain terms that so far as she, Marcy, could see, neither Trudy nor Gwen had done anything wrong. That meant that whatever else might be so, they weren't at fault and had nothing to apologize for. Marcy then went on to apologize on behalf of her parents for the hateful and hurtful comments they had thrown at Trudy, and by extension Gwen.

A subdued Angela Sanders went about her work in the kitchen and the seed garden, making no attempts to interfere further in the running of the farms. Her soul searching had not yet led her to the conclusion that Clayton had done the right thing, but it had begun to show her that she had been at least partially in the wrong, and therefore partly to blame. In time perhaps she could mend that fence with her son, but for now it was apparent that she needed to take care of her own issues.

With so many departing, housing arrangements were changed and job assignments were shifted to reflect the new dynamic.

Lila Webb moved into the orphanage, where she would work full time until further notice. She was good with the children and enjoyed the work, and with two of the women who had lived there departing there was a need for extra help to care for so many children. Callie Weston and Tammy Denmark would no longer be working at other jobs, either. Clay had decided that their loyalty had proven they could be trusted, and their help was needed to care for the children.

Trudy would continue to work there as well, no one objecting to her presence. She was good with the children and all of the toddlers seemed to love her just as much as they did Lila. Trudy of course didn't move into the orphanage, but she did agree to work at least one night a week to allow the others to sleep through the night.

After some discussion, Sienna Newell and Kandi Ledford moved in with Marcy George. It gave both women more room and some much appreciated privacy. Terri Hartwell talked to Trudy and Gwen and decided to take the empty room in their house, moving out of the Building Two dorm. She looked forward to having a little more room and to being on the Hill as well.

Mattie Simmons was assigned to the seed garden project in place of Callie Weston, and would also help out in other areas as needed. Mattie was very happy with the assignment as it would allow her to be outdoors most of the time, which she preferred. She had settled in well with Dee Talbot's family and would remain there for the time being. As Dee Talbot's son grew older that decision might need to be revisited, but that was well down the road.

After a week, the dust began to settle and a new dynamic started to take shape. It came as a surprise to many how little impact the losses had made on the work they were able to get done. The biggest impact had been at the Orphanage, with two residents plus Malitha George gone. Lila moving in and Trudy remaining on 'staff' had covered that fairly well, though they would no doubt need help from time to time.

Marla Jones had not really made any effort beyond bitching and griping so while she herself might be missed, her contribution to the survival effort would not.

Franklin George would be missed, especially when they had need of a builder, but they would get by. It was a handicap, but it was not insurmountable.

No one outside his family missed John Webb.

***

“Things seem to be moving along pretty good at the moment,” Jose commented as he and Clay walked the ranch over. They tried to make the rounds at least once a week, looking for problem areas or weak spots in their defenses.

“Let’s not jinx it, huh?” Clay suggested. “Instead let’s just pretend that things are running about normal. Maybe we can fool Karma into thinking nothing good is happening.”

“Man, your superstitious streak is awful,” Jose shook his head sadly. “Nate says the lead class is pretty much done, by the way,” he added after a moment. “He wants to keep running them through drills and PT for another two weeks, but that's just to make sure the edges are rounded, he says. If they had to, they could manage right now.”

“I like the idea of the extra training, assuming we get the time and opportunity,” Clay mused. “Tell him to go with it unless we get back to him differently. With that done, we can ease back for a week or two and then start the next class. By fall we should have everyone up to speed, at least for the most part.”

“Meanwhile, Greg Holloway and Sienna Newell went into Jordan this morning along with Gordy, Zach, Stacy and Xavier.” Jose was ticking things off a list in his hands.

“Xavier?” Clay's surprise showed at hearing that. “Why would he want to go?”

“Said he wanted to see how it went and keep getting a lay of the land,” Jose shrugged. “'Studying the natives in their natural habitat', I think he said. I didn't see a reason not to let him go.”

“No, I suppose not,” Clay admitted somewhat reluctantly. “I hope he's not too abrasive. Wonder how things are going in Jordan, what with the Georges and the rest there now,” he mused aloud.

“Well, we made some pretty good progress with the folks in town, so hopefully it's okay,” Jose mentioned. “We probably need to think about doing the next food drop soon, though,” he added.

“Plan on it for three days from tomorrow, probably,” Clay ordered. “We’ll have to separate out a couple head and get them butchered and smoked. Have Kandi put the rest together and then we’ll load the beef when it's done.”

“Will do.”

“I wonder how Greg is doing?”

***

“No.”

Greg's refusal was a flat one, catching the man before him by surprise.

“What do you mean no?” he demanded, leaning forward in what he imagined to be an intimidating manner.

“I know who you are, Billy Johnson,” Greg raised an eyebrow. “I remember hauling your ass in on many a weekend for drunken brawling, driving under the influence and disturbing the peace. I'd imagine the only reason they aren't having trouble with you now is because you can't get much alcohol. Why are you here, anyway? Don't you live almost to Lewiston?”

“This is where I was when the lights went out,” Johnson replied, stung by the former deputy's recital of his past sins. “What d'you want me to do? Walk?”

“Perish the thought,” Greg sighed. “The answer is still no. Next one?” Johnson reluctantly gave way, muttering under his breath as he moved back into the street.

Greg and Sienna had been working most of the morning in an empty store that had been part of a small strip mall along the main drag through Jordan. The contents of the small boutique had long since been emptied, leaving nothing but a counter and a damaged trailer. A pair of folding chairs from the Cougar had been all they added as they began reviewing prospects for the position of deputy. So far they had three 'winners' as Greg referred to them. He had hoped for eight, but was willing to settle for six in a pinch.

Mayor Pickett had told them he had five people he had approached about serving, and the next one up was one of them. A tall, broad shouldered woman with shoulder length blonde hair strode into the room. Even after a harsh winter her athleticism was still there and showing in her prowling gait and erect carriage.

Greg and Sienna both liked her immediately.

“Talia Gray?” Greg asked, looking at his list.

“That's me,” the woman nodded.

“Didn't you do cross country for Calhoun High a couple years back?” Greg asked, a memory tickling the back of his mind.

“Little longer than that, Deputy,” Gray smiled. “This makes six years since I graduated, in fact.”

“You held a record for best time in the six kay, right?” Greg asked.

“I guess I still do,” Gray shrugged. “I don't think we’ll be seeing many cross country meets for the foreseeable future.”

“No, I guess not,” Greg sighed. “Tell us a bit about yourself, Miss Gray. What have you been doing since you left high school?”

“I attended community college and got an associates in manufacturing technologies,” Gray surprised them. “Until the lights went out I was programming machinery for Power Systems. They made parts for Toyota.”

“I recall,” Greg was nodding. “What made you interested in this position?”

“I'm not,” Gray surprised them. “Old Pickett hit me with the civic duty speech that Judge Corning used to give people who were trying to duck jury duty. I'm sure you've heard it,” she smirked.

“I have,” Greg almost snorted a laugh. “And yeah, Pickett comes from the same cloth as His Honor. Well, that explains why you're here. But if you're not interested, why come talk to us?”

“Pickett made some sense,” Gray admitted. “I still don't know that I care for it, but . . . he said we, as in the community we have here, needed it. And I do agree with that, I just didn't think I was the right kind of person. That's all.”

“Why not?” Sienna spoke for the first time. “Why not you?”

“What do I know about the law?” Gray shrugged. “I program automated machinery to make other machinery. I work fifty to sixty hours a week, or did, and spend what little free time I have playing video and board games. Little slow on video games anymore, but board games made a roaring comeback during the winter,” she chuckled.

“So they did,” Greg nodded.

“You're more than smart enough to work in the field,” Sienna pressed a little. “And your background may not seem relevant to you, but how many detailed reports did you have to present at work?”

“I generated reports every day,” Gray shrugged. “On everything from what was accomplished to what remained, to what was broken and needed repair. It was an ongoing issue all around.”

“So you can observe and report accurately on what you're seeing,” Sienna stated rather than asked.

“Well, yeah,” Gray drew the answer out. “I still don't see what-,”

“About half of police work is writing reports,” Greg chuckled and Sienna nodded vigorously. “I remember one guy from way back. Great fella, no kidding, but he lacked a little in writing skills. Guys used to get hold of his reports and laugh their ass off behind his back. He lost more than one court case from ill written reports.”

“Okay,” Gray seemed to be thinking that over. “Well, I can do that,” she told Sienna finally.

“The rest we can and will teach you,” Sienna promised. “That's our job. You have to be willing and have to be able, not just physically but also have the intelligence to know what to do and when to do it. You have to be able to make good decisions under pressure, too. Having a job where you are responsible for so much is actually good training for something like this. It gets you accustomed to making decisions in cases where stress is a factor, and in evaluating situations quickly and efficiently.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Gray snorted and Greg laughed at that.

“I hope most of what you do here in your community is just walk around, making sure things are well,” he told her. “But there may well be a time where you will have to stop a crime from occurring. Part of that is knowing there's a crime happening to start with. That takes smarts, and observation skills. And unfortunately, it may require either physical altercation or even gunfire. We always hope not, but the risk is always there.”

“Ever happen to you?” Gray asked suddenly. “Either of you?” she looked next to Newell.

“Afraid so,” Greg nodded. “Not long after all this started, I was in a gun battle in Peabody. Shot four times. My vest caught two of them, the other two were in my leg and arm.”

“Mine was in Afghanistan,” Sienna said quietly. “Our patrol was ambushed with an IED, a roadside bomb,” she clarified when Gray frowned. “One of our vehicles was destroyed and the rest came under fire from two sides. We were trying to see if anyone in the lead vehicle had survived the explosion. Armor don't always work,” she shrugged.

“No, it don't,” Greg agreed.

“Neither of you are really convincing me I should do this,” Gray admitted, looking from one to the other.

“It ain't always like that,” Greg promised. “If not for what was happening in Peabody, I'd never have been shot. For that matter, if I hadn't been alone I probably wouldn't have been shot either. But I was,” he shrugged. “It was my job,” he added, as if that explained it.

“Don't confuse what happened to me with what you're being asked to do,” Sienna spoke next. “I was in a war zone. Surrounded by insurgents whose only mission was to kill Americans, regardless of who they were or what they were doing. It's unlikely you’ll face trained terrorists armed with AK-47s and RPGs. If you should find yourself in that position, then run away.”

“Amen,” Greg muttered. “All right, Miss Gray,” he straightened up, eager to get back on track. “After hearing our tales of daring do, are you interested or no?”

“I really wanna say 'no',” Gray sighed. “But old man Pickett can really lay the guilt trip on, ya know? And most everyone, me included, wanted him to be in charge. Seems like I'd be a hypocrite if I turned him down now, don't it?”

“I can't answer that,” Greg admitted, “but I know what you mean. We’ll train you to do the job if you're interested. I don't think there's any doubt that you're physically able, so I don't expect that to be a problem. What’ll it be?”

“I don't have a gun or anything,” Gray replied, clearly thinking. “I have shot a gun before, but that's not the same as saying I know how to shoot.”

“We’ll provide you with a firearm if you don't have one,” Sienna promised. “And make sure you know how to use it.”

“Well,” Gray sighed deeply. “Seems you've got an answer for everything,” she grinned slightly. “Yeah. I’ll do it, then.”

“Outstanding,” Greg smiled. “Fill this out for us while we keep talking to people.”

***

They had their eight, finally, and three more who would be able to provide support such as writing reports or taking statements once things reached that point. There was one candidate left. A woman who was probably in her forties stepped inside, looking around her hesitantly. She had long brown hair pulled into a single tail behind her, and looked as if she had seen a hard time of late.

“Can we help you?” Sienna asked, smiling tiredly.

“I don't know,” the woman admitted. “I know you were looking for people to become a police force, but I was wondering if you would need someone with secretarial and organizational skills to help?”

Greg was looking at the woman closely as Sienna spoke to her. There was something oddly familiar about her that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Almost like an itch he couldn't quite reach.

“At some point they are likely to need that kind of help,” Sienna nodded. “At the moment, though, it's just training for the prospective officers.”

“I see,” the woman nodded. “Well, thank you for your-,”

“What's your name, ma'am?” Greg interrupted. “I apologize if that sounded rude,” he added when the woman jerked a bit. “You just seem familiar.”

“My name is Betty Simmons,” she replied carefully, studying Greg now instead of Sienna.

“What?” Sienna almost choked out.

“Do I know you?” Betty Simmons asked Sienna.

“No ma'am, but I think I know someone you do know.”

***

“What do we do?” Sienna asked Greg, once they had calmed Betty Simmons down. She had finally managed to walk, leaving to go and find her husband.

“I honestly have no idea,” Greg admitted. “I don't have the authority to take them to the farms.”

“Well, we don't need a secretary, that's for sure,” Sienna frowned. “Do you know what the father does?”

“If I recall rightly, he was, or is a stone mason,” Greg frowned. “He built chimneys, walls, hearths, that kind of thing. And houses, of course. Not . . . I mean, he put stone around houses built of wood,” he corrected himself.

“I got it,” she nodded. “Is that something Clay would want, assuming they want to go?”

“I . . .  he might, especially after Franklin left.”

“That's another thing,” Sienna frowned. “I've not heard a peep from anyone about how they came to be here or what they may have said since they arrived. What's up with that, you think?”

“Son, I need to talk to you for a minute,” Clem Pickett's voice broke into the conversation. Neither had seen him arrive.

“Sure thing, Mister Mayor,” Greg smiled. “What can we do for you, sir?”

“Well, there may be a problem,” Pickett sighed.

***

“He's only got a small crowd listening to him, but . . . that kind of thing grows in a hurry I'm afraid,” Pickett finished explaining. In the time the Georges and their entourage had been in Jordan, they had indeed been busy telling anyone who would listen all about everything they could think of. John Webb was one of their biggest supporters, chiming in about how it was because of the Sanders that so many of his family were dead.

“Well so far, everything you've told us he has said is a flat out lie,” Greg replied, his voice laced with anger. “Not that we didn't expect this, especially from them and the Webb boy. I'm shocked that Marla Jones isn't harping alongside them.”

“Marla has already shacked up with somebody and is busy ignoring them,” Pickett chuckled. “Them two girls that came with 'em have took an empty house and made it into a day care. I don't know why we didn't think of it before, but it's a damn good idea.”

“That's more or less what they were doing at the farm,” Sienna nodded.

“Well, it don't surprise me that it's all bullshit,” Pickett sighed. “Known Leon Sanders and his son, Gordon, for many a year. While they might not care about the woman being gay, they'd never ignore a child molester in their midst.”

“My best friend walked in on the incident,” Sienna told him. “Mrs. George was trying to get a child from Trudy's arms, shouting at her the whole time. She had seen Trudy changing a diaper and decided it was an easy jump to claim she was abusing the baby. The doctor examined her, though, and said that while she did show signs of abuse, physical abuse and not sexual, it was from months ago. Before she came to be on the farm.”

“And Leon opened a shelter for them?” Pickett asked.

“Had a building purpose built for it,” Greg nodded.

“Well, that's good to know,” Pickett stood, stretching his back. “I don't know how far this will spread, but knowing the truth should help slow it down. Still, you folks better be careful for a bit. There are a few that are riled over that, or over the fact that the Sanders are still eatin' good.”

“I'm not sure 'good' is the right term,” Greg shook his head. “And you can remind those that are angry that the food that was delivered a few days back came from the Sanders family, too. So will the next delivery. They've been feeding other people all winter long. To the point that they're eating shallow themselves at this point.”

“That sounds more like the folks I know,” Pickett nodded slowly. “And that's information I can use, too,” he smirked. “Good thing I came to talk to you, ain't it?”

“Since you're here, what can you tell us about Dan and Betty Simmons?” Greg asked.

“Dan?” Pickett looked surprised.

“His wife was here a bit ago, asking about serving as a secretary for the new police force, once it gets to that point.”

“Betty has been here since the fire,” Pickett nodded slowly. “Working here and there when she was able. But . . . who mentioned Dan?”

“She did,” Greg frowned. “We're pretty sure we know where her daughter is and told her so. She said she was going to find her husband and tell him the good news.”

Pickett didn't react to that immediately, but when he did, there was concern etched on his face.

“Son, Dan Simmons ain't here. Betty walks the town looking for him every now and then, but . . . apparently he was out of town when the lights came and . . . he ain't never turned up.”

“Well . . . shit.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“We can take Mattie to her mother, or she can stay here without her,” Clay was shaking his head. “We are not taking on someone else that can't care for themselves.”

“I think she can care for herself just fine,” Greg replied. “She's just . . . she lost everything, or thought she had, and it affected her. Just like it would any of us.”

“If she's looking around town for a husband that ain't there, then she's got at least some kind of problem,” Clay countered.

“Or she's just keeping up hope that he will show up,” Sienna argued. “There's no cell phones, no pagers, no nothing anymore. He could be in town for days before the two knew each other was nearby. I admit it's not likely since most everyone there knows everyone else, but it's still possible.”

“Possible, but not likely,” Clay repeated. “I'm not . . . it's not that I'm not sympathetic, because I am. It's just that we can't keep taking in people who are a net loss in manpower. We just can't. Everyone here has to be able to contribute in a meaningful way. And like you said, Sienna; we don't need a secretary.”

“Well, what if she could do something else?” Sienna asked.

“Such as?” Clay wanted to know.

“I don't know,” she shrugged. “Maybe she's a good gardener. Or knows a lot about wild plants and what have you. Maybe she's good at preserving food. We don't know what she can do until we ask her. She might have a hobby that can contribute to our upkeep. Sewing maybe?”

“Already got plenty of people sewing,” Clay shook his head. “Gardening . . . I suppose she could help with the greenhouses and seed garden if she's good enough. The wild plant thing would be awesome, assuming she knows any of it, which I doubt. Preserving food . . . there again, is something that might be useful. Not everyone here knows that. My mom, Alicia and Patricia know how, and I think Abby does, a little. I don't know about anyone else,” he admitted.

“So maybe we can talk to her tomorrow and see what she knows,” Greg nodded.

“Or you could take Mattie Simmons to her and leave them there,” Clay said stubbornly. “Mattie is a time bomb, herself. Remember?”

“I think she's past that,” Sienna remarked. “She's been pretty steady since she recovered.”

“Why did you have to tell her that Mattie was here?” Clay almost groaned. “Forget it,” he waved away their arguments. “Yeah, go ahead and see what skills she has. Better yet, Greg, ask my mother if she knows her. She may know something Mrs. Simmons can do.”

“Why me?”

“She's still talking to you.”

***

“I can't win for losing,” Clay groaned once Greg and Sienna were gone.

He did not want Betty Simmons on the farm. For that matter he'd be glad to see Mattie go to live with her mom rather than bringing Betty here. Mattie was probably going to be trouble sooner or later. Better to get her off the farm than let it happen. But . . . he couldn't kick her to the curb unless she actually did something. And he had no doubt that if she found out her mother was in town, wandering the streets looking for her mother, she'd be demanding that her mother be brought here to live.

On the other hand, if they did bring Betty here, that might placate Mattie enough to make her behave. The threat of having to take her mother and go if she screwed up might just keep her in line. And her mouth shut, too.

Hm.

***

“Your mom says that Betty does have a big garden every year, and that she used to help out with the county cannery at the fairgrounds every year when they still did that,” Greg reported later that night. “I guess ‘cause she worked for the county schools?” he shrugged.

“So she can do canning at least, assuming she's not off her nut,” Clay said aloud. “Of course, that might mean that Jordan would need her services, too,” he added. He tapped at his chin with an index finger as he ran the ideas through his head.

“Your mom also said that if you wanted to let her work in the seed gardens, it would free Mattie up for something else. Mattie is a big, strong girl so there's a lot more she could be doing, I guess,” Greg added.

“That is true, but what can she do?” Clay asked absently. “She's a ball player, not a farmer. Doesn't know dick about horses or cattle I'm sure. She can help tend the gardens of course,” he kept running through scenarios in his head. “Help with the . . . ” he trailed off as a thought hit him.

“What?” Greg asked, seeing the change.

“Well, she could help with the school, and teach them some kind of P.E. Maybe get them playing games or something? I know we've got some sports equipment somewhere. And we could probably find some more if we look. It wouldn't have to be full time or anything. Just a couple days a week. Spend the rest of the time working the gardens or helping out somewhere else. I think we might have a winner here,” he smiled at Greg. “What do you think?”

“You're in charge, Oh Great One,” Greg made the forehead to chin swirl that Clay had come to hate.

“You're all in it, aren't you?”

***

“My mom?” Mattie looked stunned. “When did you see her?”

“This evening, earlier,” Greg replied. “She left before we could ask her anything else,” he fudged a little.

“So, what I need to know is this,” Clay looked at her. “Do you want to try and bring your mom here? Or do you want to go to Jordan with her? Either way is fine and we can take you in when Greg and Sienna go in the morning. The choice is entirely up to you. I would only caution you that once you go, it may not be possible for you to come back. We have only a limited number of slots here, and if we were to fill yours with someone at least as useful as you have been, then that would be that.”

“So I have to make the choice right now?” Mattie asked.

“No, not right this minute,” Clay shook his head. “And your mother may not want to come out here, either,” he reminded her. “We can't make her. That will have to be a decision the two of you make. You want to ride in with them in the morning and see if you can talk to her?”

“What do you mean 'see'?” she asked.

“You’ll have to find her,” Greg reminded her. “But Mayor Pickett will probably know where to at least start looking.”

“What will she do if she comes here?” Mattie asked Clay.

“Probably what you're doing now in the seed garden, which would leave you free to help in the bigger gardens, and maybe teach a little sports and activity with the school kids. Maybe organize a ball game or something now and then.”

“With little kids?” Mattie almost wrinkled her nose.

“Well, with school kids,” Clay nodded. “None of them are in diapers.”

“I guess I could handle that,” Mattie nodded. “But I'd like to see my mom first, if I can. Before I decide.”

“Be on the pad by seven tomorrow morning,” Clay told her. “They leave then headed to Jordan. Be prepared to spend the day. They’ll be finishing up their review of the people they've chosen to do the police training while Tandi interviews people for training as medics.”

***

Mattie was on the pad ready to go thirty minutes early. She had spent a near sleepless night, tossing and turning as she thought about her mother, and how no one had mentioned her father. That hadn't occurred to her at the time and when she did think of it, it was too late to ask.

Now she was almost bouncing up and down waiting for everyone to get there so they could leave. She had to fight against the urge to try and get everyone together faster.

Finally it was time to go and she clambered aboard the big six-wheel vehicle that would be taking them to Jordan. Time seemed to move even slower on the ride in, something she didn't think possible at this point. Arriving in Jordan was somewhat underwhelming as she noticed the damage at the edge of town from the fire as well as how almost deserted the small community looked. It got marginally better near the center of town where work was being done to make the buildings usable again after the winter.

It was all she could do to wait for the door to open and for Titus Terry to step down before she was bailing out behind him.

“Where's my mom?” she asked excitedly, looking around.

“Uh, Mattie,” Sienna came up to her. “Remember we told you that you might have to look for her. And that the mayor might be able to help. We don't know where she's staying.”

“Why didn't you ask?” Mattie demanded.

“You need to dial that attitude down, Mattie,” Greg warned suddenly. “You knew everything we knew last night. Your mother left before we could ask her any of that or even tell her we could bring you here today. That's not something we had any control over. Now . . . ” he trailed off at the sight of a familiar face.

“Here comes Mayor Pickett,” he nodded in the older man's direction. “He may know where she's staying, or at least know someone who does.”

“Morning young people,” Pickett actually smiled. “Good to see you.”

“Mayor Pickett, this is Mattie Simmons,” Greg introduced. “Betty Simmons daughter.”

“Ah, yes,” Pickett shook hands with Mattie. “She had mentioned you before, quite despondent over you having been so far away from home. She will no doubt be delighted to see you home!”

“Where is she?” Mattie asked eagerly.

“Well, I don't actually know at the moment,” Pickett admitted. “She was supposed to be helping finish the last little bit of planting we had to do today, so she's likely down this way,” he pointed south. “There is a large field down there that still had a few acres to be planted. If she's-,”

“Thank you!” Mattie didn't let him finish before running off in the direction he pointed. Pickett watched her go before turning his gaze back to Greg and Sienna.

“I take it you didn't tell her?” he asked.

“She doesn't listen overly well,” Sienna admitted. “We tried to, but Mattie only seems to hear what she pleases.”

“That's a shame,” Pickett sighed.

***

Mattie saw several people working in the field when she got there, She paused at the edge of the field to survey the workers. She grew more and more on edge as she failed to find her mother, but finally a familiar figure stood up near the end of the field. Mattie took off at once, running toward her.

“Stay off that plowed ground!” more than one person yelled, and a shame-faced Mattie had to skirt around the field to reach her mother. She had expected her mother to be delighted to see her, evening run to meet her, but that didn't happen. As she got nearer she could see the empty expression on her mother's face.

Betty had stopped working as she saw someone running her way. Recognition slowly came to her as she realized, finally, that this was her daughter.

“Mattie, is that you?” she called.

Mattie heard her mother calling and was a bit nonplussed that her call seemed . . . casual. Not really excited at all despite the long separation and near miracle of her being home again. Mattie slowed to a walk, catching her breath and giving her time to get herself together before reaching her mother.

“Mom, I'm home!” she exclaimed, trying to liven her mother's mood.

“I can see that, dear,” Betty smiled tiredly. “How was your trip?”

How was her trip? That was what her mother chose to say when they were speaking for the first time in months?

“It was long and difficult, mom,” Mattie replied honestly. “I'm so glad to see you,” she hugged her mother tightly.

“I'm delighted to see you as well, sweetheart,” Betty returned the embrace. “You look good,” she smiled a little brighter.

“No I don't,” Mattie scoffed. “I look horrible, but I think that's the standard any more. Where's Dad?” she asked, looking around.

“Mattie, you know your father was in Nashville when all this started,” Betty's voice had a slightly chiding tone to it when she replied. “He was buying rock today for the work on Doctor David's home in Lewiston. He dropped you off at school on his way out, remember?”

And finally Mattie realized that her mother might not be all right.

“Mom, I was away at college, remember?” she tried to grin in order to take any sting away from her words. “I was actually in Houston, Texas when the lights went out. I had to walk part of the way home before I caught a ride.”

“Houston?” Betty frowned. “I thought you were going to school in Memphis.”

“I was at a game, Mom,” Mattie told her. “An away game. Anyway, did you say Dad was in Nashville when all this started?”

“Yes,” Betty nodded. “He should be home any time, though,” she added. “He's been gone entirely too long already. I just finished my work here, so what do you say we go and look for him!”

“Sure, Mom,” Mattie fought to keep from crying. Whatever her mother had been through, it had damaged her psyche.

“Sure thing,” she smiled weakly. “Let’s do that. You can show me what's happening around here while I've been gone.”

***

Tandi Maseo had not expected to find many possible candidates for medics among the town, and he wasn't disappointed. He did find a nurse, though, along with a first responder from the local volunteer fire department. Two were better than nothing he decided.

“We’ll be in town probably twice per week,” he told them. “Meanwhile, since you both have already had some training I’ll be bringing you a kit when I come back next time. It's just the basics, but it should help.

“This should go without saying, but our resources are stretched thin. The bags I'm bringing you are not a bottomless pit. We can't give out band-aids for boo-boos, and we can't afford to treat headaches or backaches with the few pain relievers we have. Getting new supplies is difficult to impossible right now, so everything we use has to be used where it will do the most good. The key to everything right now is hygiene. Washing hands, keeping wounds clean, avoiding infection and the spread of any illness has to be our top priority.”

“We've been trying to encourage that, but our soap and other supplies are pretty much gone,” the nurse told him. “We managed to save a little bit of soap to use for serious cuts, but that's all we have left that I know of. Same goes for hand sanitizer. We still have a small amount, but save it to clean our own hands before treating a patient. To prevent the spread of disease and prevent infection in wounds.”

“Good move,” Tandi nodded in approval. “All of those precautions have no doubt helped you. I should be able to bring you some sani wipes that will help you keep your hands clean. I also have a few gloves, but you’ll need to restrict them to wounds where there's blood so that the supply will last longer.

“I wish I could tell you that the supply situation would improve, but I honestly don't think it will,” he decided to be as honest as possible. “That means we have to be judicious in where and how we use what we have. We're going to have to learn to make things for ourselves from here on I'm afraid. To make do with what we can come up with from our own resources. But my compliments to you both. It sounds like you've done the best you could with what you had to work with. Well done.”

“When will you be back?” the nurse asked him.

“I think in three days, give or take,” Tandi replied. “I think that's still a little fluid because there are other factors in the works, but I feel confident that if I'm off the mark, it won't be more than two days. In the meantime, I’ll leave these two books with you,” he handed a manual to each one, “for you to study. They aren't the same book, so when you finish, exchange them and read both. Please try to keep them in good shape. I have very few sets, and hopefully we’ll be able to train more people eventually. You don't have to finish them before we return, but if you can and want to, go ahead. No penalty for reading ahead,” he grinned.

“For today, tell me where you get your water, and how you make it safe for drinking.”

***

“I'm not going to lie to any of you,” Greg told the assembled prospective police officers. “Our new situation has made everything harder, and that especially includes any type of law enforcement. The infrastructure that supports law enforcement is pretty much gone. We have few vehicles, very few working radios, none of which can reach very far or summon help as we once could, and little to no backup. We are as alone as the lawmen of the old west once were.

“That is not an invitation to be John Wayne, however,” he warned them, and was rewarded with grins and snorts of humor. “Never forget that you are essentially alone, save for the people to your right and left. There's no Sheriff's patrol to call, no Highway Patrol, no state or federal help. That means you have to be smart. Know what battles to fight and which ones to try and contain.

“Know the limit to what you can do, both as individuals and as a group, and stay within that limit. Once things are more settled, you may have the limited option of calling for some help, but that option will have to be reserved for times when you are facing something you absolutely cannot face on your own. And never forget that the available help is few in number and often far away, so don't automatically assume you're going to get help right away, or at all. They may well be tied up somewhere else.”

“But we are trying to build a network of support, even it's just a few small communities in this area. We will help each other in times of trouble or trial and that will help us all get the job done, and get through even the worst of times.”

“For today, we're going to go through a standard familiarization of what you can expect, and what is expected of you. It should go without saying that you are expected to be professional and to resist the temptation to try and impress your will on others. That is not your mission. Your mission is to keep the peace. We were once known as peace officers, and that was why.”

“We're going to get back to that, now. Because instead of enforcing every tiny law that some legislator has cooked up, we’ll instead be maintaining the peace in our communities. Stopping fights, preventing thefts, controlling drunks and minimizing any danger to the community. That is your mission.”

“So, we’ll start with basic safety for yourselves. As you're working, remember that . . . ”

***

“How's it coming?” Clay asked his nephew.

“We can do it,” Deuce said at once. “We've got everything set up the way it's supposed to be, and we've got plenty of materials. Once we harvest the seed we need, we can start making bio-diesel. As soon as it starts to come in, we can mix it with the actual diesel we have and make it go further.”

“Is it going to damage anything?” Clay asked, frowning.

“It shouldn't,” Leanne shook her head, book still clutched to her chest. “Everything we've read on the subject indicates that this will actually function just as well as actual diesel. That means that the farm equipment, Daddy's equipment, the Cougars and those new armored car thingies will all be able to keep running so long as we can keep producing the bio-diesel.”

“Outstanding,” Clay rubbed his hands together. “That might be the best news I've heard in a while.”

“We also figured a way to keep producing the moonshine using the sugar beet crop,” Deuce told him proudly. “It will lower the proof a bit, but nowhere near enough to keep it from working. Again, the best move is to use it to thin down the actual gas we have remaining, but even when that's gone, the shine will work as fuel.”

“That we’ll have to watch, however,” Leanne added. “The engine will run somewhat hotter using the undiluted alcohol, which could damage the pistons and heads. The upside is that any gunk that would normally accumulate in the engine thanks to detergent fuels will be burned completely away, and there won't be any future build up while you use the alcohol.”

“You two just keep increasing your worth around here,” Clay beamed and the twins preened under his praise. “I don't know what we'd do without you,” he added honestly.

“Neither do we,” both said in unison.

***

After two hours of walking through Jordan, Mattie Simmons was confused. Her mother had seemed as if she was unstable at first, but after talking to Mattie about what she had gone through to get home, she was much better. It was almost as if getting Mattie back had helped her reconnect with reality.

“It was a hard winter,” Betty told her. “But I managed to get through okay. Since it was just me, our canned goods and what not were more than enough for me. If not for the fire, I'd still be at home and probably doing reasonably well. But, the fire did come and I barely managed to stay ahead of it. I loaded everything I could into the wheelbarrow and your father's game cart and started for town. Once I arrived, I went to Freda's place, over on the east end of town? Freda wasn't there, but I knew where she kept a key and let myself in.”

“Freda hasn't returned, and I suppose after all this time she isn't going to,” she admitted sadly. “Still, I've kept her house and her things clean and orderly, just in case,” she smiled. “Her house has been ransacked for food, but oddly nothing else was missing. There were blankets still, and bedding, which surprised me. I've managed to make myself comfortable despite the conditions.”

“What about Dad?” Mattie asked.

“He was in Nashville,” Betty looked even more sad now. “He had gone to place a rock order for custom work in Lewiston. He'd have to have it delivered he said, since his truck wouldn't haul all of it. He may have been on his way home when it happened, I don't know. I had heard the radio broadcast and tried to call him to see if he'd heard it, but by then all the circuits were jammed. There was nothing else I could do. Your phone went straight to voice mail when I tried it.”

“Probably in a team meeting,” Mattie nodded. “Phones not allowed. We have to leave them in our rooms or with the desk.”

“Well, anyway,” Betty smiled weakly. “You're all caught up with me.”

“I hooked up with a convoy coming this way,” Mattie told her. “Coming to the Sanders' Farm of all places. They gave me a ride, and then from there on to the house. I found everything gone and feared the worst. Neither of your vehicles were there and everything was destroyed so . . . I didn't know what to do.”

“My car was in the shop,” Betty nodded. “I was supposed to get it back the next day.”

“I've been staying with the Sanders since then,” Mattie continued. “They're doing okay so far, and helping as many people as they can, including here. But when I found out you were here, I came with them to see you.”

“I'm so very glad you did,” her mother hugged her tightly.

“So what do you want to do now?” Mattie asked her.

“What do you mean?” Betty frowned.

“Well, you can come with me to live there,” Mattie said. “Mrs. Sanders has a seed garden in the works along with several greenhouses. I've been helping her the last few days, but you could take that over while I do something else. If you want to, I mean,” she added. “And once harvest starts, they’ll be canning and drying and dehydrating everything they can for the winter. You know as much about that as anyone I know of.”

“I can't imagine they want anyone else coming there,” Betty scoffed. “And while I'm not nearly as comfortable as I once was, I'm not too bad off. Honestly, I'm far better off than many.”

“I've said the same thing,” Mattie nodded. “I had just a couple changes of clothing and my uniforms. They were pretty threadbare by the time I got here. Abby loaned me some clothing and Shane and the others gave me some uniform clothing that fits me, including a pair of boots. None of them had to do that, they just did.”

“Franklin George has been telling anyone who will listen that the Sanders are protecting a child molester,” Betty frowned. “I don't know that we should be near that kind of thing.”

“Well, I was there when all that happened,” Mattie declared. “And it's a complete fabrication. There's an Army doctor in the group I rode here with and she examined the baby immediately after Mrs. George made the accusation. She absolutely declared there had been no such assault on the child. Mrs. George lied about it, got caught at it, and eventually admitted to it. It was all because of her hatred of homosexuals.”

“I would never have imagined her to do something like that,” Betty admitted.

“No one else did either,” Mattie agreed. “If it hadn't been for some quick thinking by Clayton Sanders and Greg Holloway, she might have caused even more of a ruckus than she did.”

“Someone could have gotten hurt like that,” Betty nodded.

“So knowing that, do you still want to stay here rather than go to the Sanders' farm?” Mattie asked.

“What do you want to do, dear?” Betty countered.

“I don't . . . I honestly don't have a preference,” Mattie admitted. “I haven't been the best guest out there and I doubt they’ll forget that any time soon. It's a long story,” she shook her head as her mother began to speak. “Regardless, so long as I can be where you are, I'm happy. I'd have to go and collect my things, which means I'd be gone a few more days. I'd at least like to see where I'd be living, though, if we stay here. Is that what you want to do?” she asked.

“I am comfortable where I am,” Betty admitted. “And I've made a good contribution to the community so far, even before the gardening. If they're really going to reestablish the police force to increase safety then . . . yes, I think I'd prefer to stay here.”

“Well, let’s have a look, then,” Mattie smiled.

***

“So you're staying, then?” Sienna asked.

“My mother wants to stay here, and she is living in a nice little house that belonged to her cousin Freda. Freda hasn't turned up and probably won't if she hasn't by now. Neither has my father,” she sighed sadly. “I need to return to the farm and collect my things, though. Do you think I can ride back to Jordan the next time they come?”

“You can do that, or we can bring your things when we return if you'd rather not leave your mother,” Greg nodded. “Your choice.”

“You really don't mind?”

“We really don't,” Sienna promised. “We're just glad you found your mother. Not many are so fortunate these days.”

“I know,” Mattie nodded. “I feel like I should go back, though, and at least . . . say goodbye and say thank you.”

“That's entirely up to you, but I think I can promise you that no one will think badly of you for staying here,” Greg promised. “Not when it's with your mother especially.”

“If you're sure, then . . . I'd really rather stay.”

“Then we’ll see you in three or maybe four days with your gear and maybe a little something to tide you over,” Sienna smiled. “Is there anything you need that we may can give you?”

“I'd love to have a shotgun for her house,” Mattie nodded. “Other than that, just . . . hand tools, I guess? An ax for instance? Maybe a garden hoe? That kind of thing.”

“Oddly enough, the shotgun will probably be easier to come by,” Greg admitted. “But we’ll look into the rest as well. No promises, though.”

“No promises,” Mattie nodded. “Please tell everyone, Mrs. Sanders especially, Patricia I mean, that I am eternally grateful to them.”

“Will do,” Sienna promised. “On that note, it's time for use to go. Goodbye Mattie,” she hugged the slightly taller woman.

“Goodbye, Sienna,” Mattie smiled. “And thank you so much. For everything.”

“You're more than welcome,” Sienna assured her. “And it's not like we won't see each other again, anyway. We’ll be back in a few days. Until then, take care and enjoy being with your mom.”

“Thank you!”

***

“That should tickle Clay,” Sienna said as she sat next to Greg on the way home.

“Yep.”

“What were the odds? Her finding her mother?” Sienna mused.

“I'd say the odds of her finding someone coming here from out in Texas were a lot longer,” Tandi mentioned from her other side. “Just saying.”

“Good point,” Greg nodded. “Her odds of finding her mother once she got here were pretty good, assuming her mother was still alive. And that's not an assumption we should automatically make these days.”

“All too true, I'm afraid,” Sienna agreed. “All too true.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Clay was indeed tickled, though he hid it well. Mattie was going to be another problem child and now she was gone. Even better, he never had to deal with the problem of her mother possibly being unbalanced at all. A good day in his book.

Angela was a bit put out at the loss of yet another 'assistant', but Clay promised to assign someone else to it as soon as he could. Angela had requested that Callie come back, as she already knew what needed doing. That would require someone else to help out at the orphanage, though, so Clay would have to examine that.

But the answer came from an unexpected source.

“Let me help her,” Olivia Haley said that night. “I can learn quickly and I'm right there,” she added. Greg nodded in agreement with her and stood.

“C'mon then and we’ll go see Clay.”

It took longer for them to find Clay than for him to agree to it.

“You're sure you're up to it, Olivia?” he had asked.

“I'm fine,” the girl nodded. She was still painfully slender, but no longer dangerously skinny. Gordy had told him she had always been slim, so it was probably just her genetics.

“What about your sisters?”

“They're in school now, and they have to stop being dependent on me,” Olivia replied at once. “We aren't living on our own any more. They have to start being part of everything else. If something happened to me, where would they be if they were so dependent on me and no one else?”

“Good point,” Clay had to admit. “Okay then. Greg, let Mom know this is what we're doing. I'm sure she’ll be glad to have your help, Olivia.”

“Why me?” Greg didn't quite groan.

“She's still talking to you.”

***

It was surprising to some how smoothly things were going on the farm. With so many voices that had been creating difficulties now gone, things were actually much more calm. Surprise, surprise.

The monthly 'or so' cookout was on the horizon, and the unanimous decision was made that it would be held, assuming no problems or bad weather, the day after the next trip to Jordan. In the meantime, four older cows were brought up for slaughter and smoking in the newly built smokehouse. Another was placed in the barn and fed on corn in preparation for placement on the spit for the cookout.

Careful attention was given to the food stores being prepared for Jordan. This time, rather than simply handing each person a ration, they were delivering the goods to the new kitchen and mess hall established near the town center. An outdoor kitchen of sorts had been established using chain link fencing and window screens along with a tin roof and vinyl siding for the lower walls. It wasn't perfect, but it would work.

There was no question that the farm could not continue to deliver canned goods to Jordan. They simply didn't have enough to go around, not having planned to support so many. The was some debate over using a small amount of the freeze dried foods to supplement what they gave the small town, but Clay and some of the others had argued flatly against it. The freeze dried stores would keep for twenty years or better and were a hedge against a disaster or a failed crop. Giving any of it away was out of the question so far as Clay was concerned, and he knew Leon felt the same. Pickett had already agreed to have foraging parties working in the area around town for early fruit as well as berries and any other edibles that could be gleaned from nature. That would have to supplement the town's food supply along with strict rationing.

It was further decided that this would be the last food delivery to Jordan until and unless they could deliver food from their harvest. Most of the canned goods that Clay had hoarded were now gone, and a good bit of the others besides. The rest would be held in reserve or used by them until harvest, if necessary.

One of the problems Clay was seeing in the future was that Franklin George knew entirely too much about the food storage situation at the farm. While he didn't know everything, he knew enough. Hopefully the fact that the Sanders family had twice, and soon to be three times, delivered food to the town would go a long way toward assuming that most of those food stores were gone, now. And a great deal of them were, to be fair. But there was no reason for anyone else to know how much remained.

If Franklin made too much noise, Clay could always point out that the Georges and their entourage were delivered to Jordan with an entire semi-trailer. He would leave unmentioned how much of that had been furniture and personal belongings. Two could play at that game. Besides that, when harvest came in, Clay intended to deliver a fair share to the Georges and the others, commiserate with their labor efforts in putting the gardens in. So far as he was concerned, that would end any obligation the farm might have to any of that crowd. He would not have it said that he or his family were unfair or were taking advantage.

His mother had agreed to once again lead the bread effort, and Lainie and Alicia had both agreed to assist. This time, however, Samantha Walters had also joined in, as had Kandi Ledford. The soldier would be using those same ovens to bake cakes and pies, and Sienna Newell swore Kandi was something of a desert aficionado. In addition, Kandi knew how to make hard candy for the children, and would be doing that work, with help from the 'bakery' as it was now being called. A little candy for the children was something everyone could get behind.

Meanwhile, there was another project in the works as well.

***

“With so much of the canned food out of here, it's definitely doable,” Deuce nodded, looking around. “We can use that wall over there for the things that need power, and then maybe set tables on the opposite wall for the rest. I don't know about food and stuff,” he shrugged. “You guys have anything in mind for that?”

“What would we do?” Leanne asked before anyone else could answer. “Last I checked, there's no hot dogs or marshmallows to roast. What little chocolate we have is being hoarded for baking. We're going to have to bring our own stuff and just . . . share it.”

“Yeah, that’ll work,” Deuce nodded. “Well, let’s see then . . . ”

***

“What are you guys doing?” Clay asked, seeing a lot of people going in and out of Building One. Too many since they had already loaded the canned goods destined for Jordan.

“A little side project,” Deuce told him, stopping to talk to his uncle. “There's a good deal of room on the ground floor right now, so we're using it.”

“For what?” Clay asked.

“Come and see,” Deuce offered, waving his hand. Clay did just that, stopping just inside to look at the changes.

“None of it is permanent other than that wall,” Deuce pointed out. “The rest can be moved around as needed, anytime. Meanwhile, so long as it ain't in use, what do you think?”

“I think it's a fine idea, kiddo,” Clay smiled at him. “Carry on.”

***

The return trip to Jordan was a little anti-climatic in a lot of ways. There was a brief amount of difficulty at first when the bus arrived at the new kitchen. People began lining up almost immediately, expecting to once again be gifted foodstuffs. When that didn't immediately happen, some began to complain. Loudly.

One machine gun armed Hummer pulling alongside with siren blaring had scattered the malcontents and drawn attention to the Mayor. Pickett had been helped onto the back door step of the bus where he had explained that this food delivery would be stored in the kitchen and would be served out in meals twice a day at six in the morning and again at six in the evening. People were free to save some of what they received during each meal as a snack, but the idea was to conserve food as much as possible. To stretch it until their crops began to come in.

Some were still wanting to be ugly, demanding their 'fair share' of the food, to which Pickett replied, “all you gotta do is take it from the soldiers.” Which had shut down the arguing pretty much completely.

The unloading finished, Sienna loaded into the Hummer with Titus Terry and Zach Willis to find Mattie Simmons and deliver her things as well as a supply of food. While not as much as they had sent with the Georges, Mattie had not contributed much to the farm, nor been there long. Titus navigated the town with familiar ease while Zach rode up top as always.

Mattie had obviously seen them coming as she was waiting for them in the drive of the house she now shared with her mother. Sienna had expected the girl to be in a better mood now that she had found her mother, but quickly discovered this was not the case. She was still slightly churlish and difficult to deal with.

“I expected you guys yesterday,” she said without even a hint of greeting.

“Well, I'm sorry we couldn't meet your schedule, Miss Simmons,” Sienna replied flatly. “We do have other things to get done. Here,” she thrust a bundle into Mattie's arms. “Your clothing, including all that you were given when we arrived at the Sanders' farm. Titus,” she called. The young man stepped forward and thrust a small box into Mattie's nearly full arms.

“A little food, some soap and a bit of shampoo,” Sienna by the greatest effort didn't growl. “Everyone chipped in to give you something. I’ll be sure and tell them how grateful you were. Titus,” she said again, nodding her head for the driver's seat. He returned the nod silently and climbed behind the wheel.

“Take care Miss Simmons,” Sienna remarked. Before Mattie could say anything else, Titus had the rig in gear and moving.

“What an ungrateful little bitch,” Sienna muttered.

“Yep,” Zach agreed at once.

***

Greg and Sienna put the prospective officers through their paces during the day, teaching firearms safety and etiquette, as well as basic skills in dealing with problem people. They ended by giving the prospects a list of physical exercises to be doing in preparation for their training.

“We can't make the trip here every day, so you're going to have to work independently of our presence and do physical training yourselves. We will spend our time with you studying basic procedures and familiarization with firearms and other tools of the trade. Remember what I said before; this isn't the wild west, but it also isn't the same as law enforcement before the Storm. It's about being peace officers now, and not law enforcement. Your job is to keep the peace and prevent crime against the people in your town. That might be assault or theft or worse.” Greg paused to watch as each person nodded.

“You always, always work in pairs,” he stressed. “The days when you could just radio for help are over. You work together and you watch each other’s backs. If you sense you're in over your head, you get another pair to help you out. If we can add more officers over time, we will. More of you means more per shift and safer working conditions.”

“You guys are the first at this, so it's important you do well and be seen as professionals and also as being courteous and protectors of your township. That will encourage the right kind of people to step forward wanting to be like you. Ideally I'd like to see your number double before winter, assuming we can find that many qualified candidates. That means not just physically able but also mentally. If they don't have the right attitude then you don't need them.”

“Now, we're going to spend the rest of our time today going over how you work in pairs to approach a problem. Pair off by numbers for now. As you work together you may get a sense of people you can work with better than others, and that's fine. We want you to be comfortable with who you're working with. But for this exercise it won't matter. So, let's have One and Two, here, with the rest observing as . . . ”

***

“These packs are pretty complete from a first responder standpoint, but they're aren't bottomless. Remember what I said about judicious use of your materials and supplies. If you can get by without using anything, do it. I'm sure someone around here has a distillery, right?” Tandi asked them.

“More than one, probably,” the nurse snorted.

“Get some of their moonshine to use as a sterilizing agent,” Tandi instructed. “Better yet, have Mayor Pickett see to that. He’ll have less difficulty with it in all likelihood. Kids will want band-aids. Teach them band-aids are for serious cuts, and remind parents to keep their kids from getting cuts dirty. Keep them as clean as possible. I included some soap that is great for killing germs, but it's all I had, so use it sparingly. I don't have any more other than what's in my own bag. There's also a can of sani-wipes in each bag. Again, all I've got, so use them sparingly. If they dry out on you, you can reactivate them with a little distilled water or alcohol. Won't take much, just enough to wet them.”

“What about when we have someone seriously injured?” the nurse asked.

“It depends on how serious,” Tandi admitted. “We've lost a number of people to wounds and injuries that we just couldn't treat effectively. One was a friend of mine. There was just too much damage. I would suggest you have some cloth bandages for times when you aren't sure you can stop bleeding and use them instead of the sterile bandages I'm leaving you. You can always sterilize them with boiling water if you let them dry somewhere relatively clean and without contamination. Packing a bleeder with soft, clean cloth is one of the best ways to stop bleeding, assuming it can be stopped.

“For some injuries, such as a suspected broken limb, we may can help if we're in the area. I think the police officers will have a limited way to get in touch with us if we're nearby. For something more serious like a traumatic head wound or massive blood loss . . . I'm sorry, but there's no way we could get here in time. Honestly, even if we were here when it happened, we probably couldn't help. You know that trauma is one of the leading causes of death, and that was when we still had modern hospitals and treatment options.”

“True,” she nodded.

“Teach people to be careful,” he cautioned. “No monkey business, no foolishness, no horseplay. Careful when climbing, careful when using tools, careful cutting wood or anything else. Remind them that we no longer have helicopter evac to lift people to a trauma center. We no longer have trauma centers, for that matter. We haven't quite regressed to the last century, well, actually the one before, in terms of medical treatment, but we're definitely as far back as the Great Depression in some cases.

“Don't ignore older folks and their home remedies. I knew a woman who was a fountain of such things and everything she did worked. Unfortunately she was killed some time back and all that knowledge was lost to us forever. Hopefully we’ll find someone else who knows what she knew, but it's just hope for now. Find a notebook or two around town and when you learn about something, write it down. We’ll do the same, assuming we get anything, and bring it to you when we visit again. It's all we can do.”

“What about babies?” the nurse asked. “Delivery, I mean,” she clarified.

“I've delivered babies, but it's not something I'm trained for any more than you would have been,” Tandi admitted. “Again, I knew a woman who was more or less a midwife, but we lost her in an attack. You may well have someone around here that can fill that role. If you do, find them and get them in your group. Someone like that may well know how to gather the herbs and roots and what have you from your area and apply them to medicinal needs. I'm trying to learn them myself, but as you may have guessed I am not from these parts,” he smiled. The other two laughed lightly at that.

“Remember to study the books I gave you,” he told them. “Don't lose them or let them get damaged. Hopefully we’ll find others to fold into your group as time goes on. We’ll have to see. And remember to find those notebooks. Scavenge wherever you have to in order to gather up a journal or notebook or something and keep records. Who you saw, who is allergic to what, how you managed to treat something. If it works once, it will probably work again. Also, when you find someone who knows things you need, you can make a record of it.”

“Got it,” the two said in unison.

“Now, let’s go over some of the basic material in those books in the time I've got left. First off . . . ”

***

“Tonight, then?” Gordy asked as he and several others looked over the results of their work.

“Absolutely,” Deuce nodded happily.

“Where do we do the cut off?” Leanne asked.

“If they're still in school, then no,” Kade suggested. “Too much can go wrong with little kids involved.”

“True enough,” Gordy sighed. “All right then. You guys spread the word and I’ll make the other arrangements. Oh, and leave that one thing to me,” he told the twins.

“Sure thing cuz!”

***

“No kidding,” Jose laughed softly. “Yeah, I can do that. Once a week or every ten days good enough?”

“That would work,” Gordy nodded. “It doesn't have to be everyone all the time. We just wanted to start it off right.”

“A hell of an idea,” Jose endorsed. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks Pancho.”

***

“Hey Gordy,” Sam smiled as he found her and Teri in the large barn, checking on a horse with a skinned leg.

“Ladies,” he nodded. “Teri, I need to borrow your assistant for a minute, if I may?”

“Sure thing,” Teri smiled. “We're done here. I’ll leave you guys to it. I need to go and get cleaned up anyway. See you later.”

“What's up?” Sam asked, hugging him closely.

“I want you to be ready to go tonight at six,” he said without any warm up or warning.

“Go?” Sam frowned. “Go where?”

“Ah, that's a secret, dear lady,” he smiled broadly. “Just pretend we're going out on the town. I’ll pick you up at six.”

“Gordy, you do remember we live in the same house,” she snorted delicately in amusement.

“I do in fact remember that,” Gordy nodded. “You gonna cooperate with my surprise or not?”

“Well, I suppose,” she was enjoying this, she admitted. “But you know we always make guys wait a little,” she raised an eyebrow.

“Any other night that would be fine,” he agreed. “But tonight I'd prefer you start early and be on time, if you don't mind.”

“And you won't tell me what we're doing?” she pressed a little.

“Surprise,” he drew the word out. “All I will say is that I promise you’ll like it.”

“I had better, with all this secrecy.”

***

“Well, how did it go?” Clay asked, looking at Greg, Sienna and Tandi.

“Mine went fine,” Tandi nodded. “I wish there were more people with some kind of training, but at least there are the two of them. It could be none.”

“True. How about you guys?” he asked Greg.

“We had a small issue at first when people realized we weren't giving the food out to individuals,” Greg reported. “Pickett told them what was going to happen and that settled most of it. For the diehard complainers, he just pointed out that all they had to do was take it from the soldiers. Pretty much ended all the problems right there.”

“That old man must really be something,” Clay chuckled. “I know Leon and Gordon like him, so he must be okay. What about Mattie? See her okay?”

“Yes, and I can honestly say I'm sorry I ever advocated for her staying, mother or no,” Sienna almost growled. “We took her things to her and delivered the care package and the first thing out of her mouth was a surly 'I expected you yesterday'. Talk about ungrateful.”

“That was the vibe I got,” Clay didn't bother with 'I told you so'. “So, everything in town settled for the moment?”

“Pretty much,” Greg nodded. “We’ll go back in a week and check on their progress, teach another class or two and work through some problems with them. I think as long as they practice among themselves and do their physical training they will be fine. My only worry is that something will happen before they're truly ready for it.”

“Nothing we can do about that,” Clay shrugged. “You guys can go and stay overnight if you want, make it a two- or three-day thing at a time. You could take a motor home or else the school bus, either one. School bus would be more practical but less comfortable. You'd need an escort, too. Still, it should be doable.”

“We’ll think about it,” Sienna mused, looking thoughtful. “I don't know that I'd want to, but it might work better than what we're doing.”

“We’ll look into it,” Greg promised. “Cook out tomorrow?”

“Gordon and Robert are smoking the meat on the pit now,” Clay nodded. “Cookout tomorrow.”

***

Samantha couldn't help but be excited as she got ready. Her hair was still damp from the shower but there wasn't much to be done about that these days. She had toweled it dry as best she could. She had broken into her carefully hoarded make up for the occasion, though she went light with it as always, especially now that there would be no more. Still, she felt certain this was a night she wanted to look her best.

She wondered idly where Abby was but promptly stopped worrying over it when there was a slight knock at her door. She bounded over to open it, surprised to find a smiling Patricia instead of Gordy.

“Sam, there is a very polite young man waiting for you in the living room,” Patricia told her. “He said he was here to pick you up and promised to have you home at a reasonable hour, so I gave my approval,” she teased.

“Thank you, Mrs. Sanders,” Sam laughed in delight. “I appreciate it.”

“Have a good time,” Patricia said before disappearing into her own room. Taking a deep breath, Samantha grabbed her rifle and slung it over her shoulder. They had been told not to go anywhere without it, so she didn't. Marching into the living room, her breath caught in her throat at the sight waiting for her.

Gordy had cleaned up really well, she decided. The deer-in-the-headlights look he got when she arrived made her glad she'd started early, as he put it. Pleased with his reaction, she managed to saunter coolly up to him and stop, looking up at him.

“You looking for me?” she teased.

“Boy was I,” he nodded slowly. “Sam . . . you're gorgeous,” he smiled softly.

“I'm sure you say that to all the girls,” she sniffed theatrically, though her face felt as if it were glowing.

“Yeah, but I mean it where you're concerned,” he teased back and she slapped his arm.

“Where are we going?” she demanded excitedly.

“Just have to wait and see,” he shook his head, offering her his arm. “I will tell you it's not far.”

“Fine then, be that way,” she tossed her hair before taking his arm. They left the house, heading in the direction of the Troy farm. They made the trip in silence, both a little nervous and yet equally comfortable in each other’s company. As they neared Building One, Sam thought she could hear music.

“Someone is having a good time,” she said.

“Sounds like it,” Gordy nodded, guiding her toward the door to Building One. “Let’s see what they're doing.”

Before she could be disappointed that their 'date', whatever it was, had been sidetracked, Gordy opened the door and motioned her inside. She stepped inside and stopped short, the scene before her enough to stop any disappointment.

The first thing that caught her eye was a wooden sign with a weak solar light on it that read “Deuce's Place”. The music was coming from a stereo set along the pallets occupying the back two-thirds or so of the building. A stack of CDs was next to it and Deuce himself was currently fishing through them, calling out songs for approval.

The next thing was the light from a large screen television over to the left. Kade Ramsey and Corey Raynard were seated in a pair of wooden Adirondack chairs playing a game of football on a Playstation. Another television had an X-box attached and featured Leanne Tillman and Abby Sanders playing a racing game.

The right side of the room was occupied by six rough tables, with benches or chairs surrounding them. Each table had a different game on it. Rook, Uno, chess, checkers, Monopoly and the last a sign that said 'D&D Club'. Other games sat on a shelf along the wall, available to anyone who wanted to play. The open area in the middle was perfect for a small dance floor and a combination of rope lights and large, multicolored Christmas lights topped off with a homemade 'disco' ball illuminated a square area directly in the center.

“What do you think?” Gordy asked, once she'd had the chance to take everything in. Her head whipped around to look up at him, a wide smile on her face.

“I think it's wonderful!” she threw herself against him, hugging him tightly. He returned it, then took her rifle and gear, hanging them on a crude gun rack near the door, joining several others already there. He placed his own beside hers before extending his arm once more and guiding her further inside.

“Why 'Deuce's Place'?” she asked over the music.

“It was his idea,” Gordy replied. “We were all looking for something like it I guess, but it was him that came up with this. I'm sure Leanne helped, but even she said the lion's share of the credit belonged to him.”

“I will have to be much nicer to him from now on,” Samantha laughed.

“Might have to get in line,” he nodded toward where Millie Long was now standing practically on top of his cousin, examining music discs over his shoulder.

“Oh, they would be good together,” Sam nodded at once.

“I have to wonder what that will do to him and Leanne, though,” Gordy observed.

“Leanne is growing into a beautiful young woman,” Sam scoffed at that. “It won't be long until someone is turning her head, I promise you.”

“Think so?” he grinned. “Who is your money on?” he questioned.

“Heath,” she replied at once, so quickly that Gordy did a double take.

“What? Really?”

“Really,” she nodded firmly, using her chin to point Gordy's attention to another table. A table where, sure enough, Heath Kelly sat alone, glass of water before him, watching with rapt attention as Leanne and Abby played on the X-box.

“How do you know he's not staring at Abby?” he asked her.

“Simple,” Sam grinned. “He's afraid of Abby, and plus she's more or less dating Jody Thompson, who Heath idolizes. Oh, and I've caught him staring at Leanne before,” she added with an impish grin. Gordy couldn't help the laugh that escaped him at that.

“Wanna dance?” he asked her, standing up.

“Oh, I don't really dance,” Sam demurred, shaking her head.

“You do tonight,” he hauled her out of her seat as easy as if she were a baby. She fought not to gasp as she ended up in Gordy's strong embrace, instead smiling as he guided her onto the small dance floor. By the time they had finished their dance others had joined them in the new 'club', Titus Terry leading Marcy George in, grinning sheepishly as his friends clapped and whistled while Marcy buried her face in his side, blushing.

Teri Hartwell had ventured inside, drifting almost on auto-pilot to where Corey Raynard was finishing his game of football. Two minutes later he was playing a different game, this time against the vet student. If she sat a little closer to him than Kade had, well . . . no one noticed it, really.

Kade had lost interest in the video game when Olivia Haley had walked in. She was a little hesitant to venture much further inside than the door, but Kade bounded over to her and pulled her inside, smiling widely at her. Blushing a little, she smiled back.

Heath worked up the nerve to approach Leanne and ask her to dance. Shocked, Leanne had stood stock still for several seconds until Abby had more or less shoved her into Heath with a 'well, go on'. Face as red as some of the lights surrounding the dance area, Leanne let Heath lead her onto the dance floor as Leon spun up another song. He didn't miss his sister dancing either, but smiled rather than frown. He had seen Heath watching her too, but doing so respectfully. He had subtly encouraged the quiet rifleman to approach Leanne and was glad to see it had worked.

“Wanna dance, big guy?” Millie's voice seemed quiet in his ear and suddenly Leon had more to think about than his sister's crush. He looked to see Millie smiling at him and felt his mouth go dry even as his palms were wet.

“It's a yes or no question, Ace,” Millie teased.

“Yes!” the younger Leon nodded, setting the discs in his hand on the table and allowing the older Millie to lead him out on the dance floor.

As the night wore on, the game tables began to fill as players chose sides and squared off. Soon everyone was having a blast and for just a few short hours, they were young people again. Just kids, doing kid things with other kids. No guns, no shooting, no life or death struggles tonight. Just a good time to be had, playing, laughing and being young.

Like it was supposed to be.

***

The music from Building One was audible out on the pad where Clay was standing, watching the moon. He wasn't nostalgic, really, but hearing them have a good time had given him a good feeling and he was glad they were getting to do it. He had to hand it to Deuce and the others, they had really done something there.

“Evening Boss,” Shane's voice cut into his ruminations.

“Rat,” Clay nodded in reply. “Making the rounds?”

“Yeah. We're all working tonight to give the kids the time off.”

“They deserve it,” Clay observed.

“That offer you made me still good?” Shane asked suddenly, and Clay looked at him then.

“Which one?”

“The woman and her kids,” Shane clarified. “Living alone out south of the town.”

“Sure,” Clay nodded. “Why?”

“I was thinking I'd go and invite them here for the cookout tomorrow,” Shane replied. “Let them come and see if they liked it here enough to leave home and come here. I don't know that she can contribute anything other than canning and gardening. Well, besides that she managed to survive alone with two kids up to this point.”

“That alone is something worth noting,” Clay agreed. “Do you like this woman, Shane?” he asked his friend. “Or is it guilt?”

“Neither,” Shane surprised him. “It's just a feeling, that's all. Just a feeling.”

“Well, go and get her in the morning then,” Clay shrugged. “Tell them to bring clothes to spend the night even, if she wants. I'd take Kandi or Sienna with me, though. Otherwise she might not want to come, just as a precaution. Better make it Sienna,” he added thoughtfully. “Kandi was still baking last I checked. No telling how long she’ll be awake tonight.”

“Hadn't thought of that,” Shane admitted. “Okay. I’ll ask Sienna to go along. Well,” he was all business again, “I better get moving. Have a good evening, Boss.”

“You too, Rat.”

Clay watched his friend fade into the dark, wondering at his frame of mind. Guilt could make a man do stupid things.

“Hey Cowboy,” Lainie said softly from behind him. Clay turned slowly to see her smiling at him in the moonlight.

“Damn you're hot,” he said without thinking and was rewarded with a tinkling laugh.

“What a come on,” she shook her head, leaning into his side as he wrapped an arm around her. “Just out here, admiring the moon?”

“Well, and sort of standing watch, too,” he nodded. “Letting the kids all have a night off to enjoy their night club.”

“Leanne mentioned that this afternoon,” she nodded. “I'm waiting patiently for bread to finish baking. Another three-and-a-half hours, give or take.”

“Well, you can wait with me, or I can go wait with you,” he suggested. “Which would you prefer?”

“I kinda like the moonlight,” she admitted. “Let’s find a place to sit down, why don't we?”

“Why don't we,” he agreed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Shane Golden fidgeted in his seat slightly as the four-wheel Cougar made its way down the country road to Dottie Greer's house. Sienna Newell was driving while Zach Willis manned the gun turret.

Shane didn't understand what was driving him to do this, visit this woman he had known for all of one hour, and offer her the chance to come to the farm. He knew it wasn't any kind of romantic feelings. Dottie Greer wasn't unattractive, but he wasn't interested in her in such ways. He had been impressed with her toughness and determination, that was certain. He was also sympathetic to her plight of isolation. She had managed all alone since the Storm, providing for herself and her two children. Her husband was who knew where, and the odds were she'd never see him again. Yet, she soldiered on.

Shane was fairly certain it was that strength that had made it impossible to forget the woman, and to feel that she deserved their help. Actually deserved it and had earned it as opposed to the people in Jordan, albeit with a very few exceptions.

“What you thinking about Rat?” Sienna asked.

“Wondering why this is so important to me,” Shane admitted at once. “All I can figure it that she impressed me. Surviving all the winter long with just her and her kids. That's a level ten toughness right there. She deserves our help.”

“No argument from me,” Sienna nodded. “And here we are,” she added as the Greer household came into view. She slowed as they reached the driveway to the house, stopping on the road rather than turning in. Shane stepped down while Sienna and Zach stayed put.

Shane examined the house before moving down the drive to speak to Dottie Greer.

***

“Mamma, it's the soldiers!” Quentin Greer exclaimed, running to her side and pulling her hand.

“The soldiers came back, Mamma,” Helena Greer called from the window. She was a year older than Quentin's seven years and thus more mature, at least in her own eyes. Dottie had described her daughter more than once as 'eight going on thirty'.

“Both of you stay out of sight,” Dottie ordered. “We don't know if it's the same people, so stay out of sight until we know for sure.”

The two children had long since lost the rebellious attitude they had possessed before the lights went out and immediately did as they were told. Dottie watched them go, then turned back to the door. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she opened the door, hoping this really was the same soldier she had spoken to before, or at least some of his friends.

She also prayed silently that they weren't here for anything bad.

***

“Ma'am,” Shane spoke calmly as Dottie opened the door. “I'm assuming you remember us?” he smiled. Shane wasn't wearing his mask, since if she agreed to come to the cook out she would see them all anyway.

“I didn't recognize you without the skull,” Dottie smiled slightly.

“Probably improves my looks,” Shane nodded, chuckling. “Ma'am, we're having a cookout today, and I wanted to invite you and your children to come with us. You can bring what you need to stay the night if you'd like, or we’ll bring you home as soon as you want, it's up to you. There are other kids in the same age group as yours there, and there will be games and food and as close to a good time like the old days as we can get, all things considered. I think you'd enjoy it, but ultimately it's up to you. Would you like to make the trip?”

“A cook out?” Dottie temporized, her mind racing. Other children? Games? Food and fun? Her children would be in heaven with that.

“Yes ma'am,” Shane nodded.

“Where . . . how far a trip are we talking about?” she asked, curious. “How far away is it?” While she wanted desperately to trust him, she couldn't quite do it. Not yet.

“Have you heard of the Sanders family, ma'am?” Shane asked.

“Of course,” she nodded at once. “They own a big ranch not far from here. Are you saying you're a Sanders?” she asked suspiciously.

“No ma'am,” Shane shook his head. “But we do live there and work from there. The Sanders' youngest son was my commanding officer in the Army. The Sanders have been working since the lights went out to try and help as many people as they could. Even built an orphanage on their farm for children who lost their parents. The beef we gave you when we were here before came from their herd.”

She wanted even more to trust him now, but . . . to take her children and pile into a vehicle with men she didn't know? That seemed like she would just be asking for trouble. Even as she thought that she saw the door to the heavy looking vehicle open and a slender figure step down. She watched as the driver removed his helmet and mask, shaking out his . . . her, long hair, she corrected, stunned.

The driver was a young woman. Wearing the same outfit as the others and obviously one of them, but a woman, nevertheless. Shane saw the look on her face and turned to see what she was looking at.

“That's Sienna,” he said, turning back to Dottie. “She came with me today and drove. She used to be an MP in the Army.” Dottie realized her mouth was hanging open at the sight and snapped it shut abruptly.

“I didn't realize you had women in your outfit the other day,” she told him.

“She wasn't with us that day,” Shane admitted. “We were just scouting and giving out supplies. Sienna has been working in Jordan to train people to be peace officers. She was able to come with me today since she wasn't in Jordan. She and I have ridden many a mile together.”

Dottie was smart enough to know that the presence of a woman soldier was not an accident, happy or otherwise. Her presence was intended to put Dottie at ease. Now, Dottie had to decide if she was going to let it.

“We . . . I haven't done any laundry of late,” she admitted, embarrassed. “It's difficult to do these days and I was busy with my garden and other things.”

“No problem,” Shane nodded. “Bring your laundry. We have a small laundry room available at the farm. It runs off solar power and a small generator. Won't last forever but for now it works. Bring your clothing and wash it while you enjoy the cookout. You can spend the night and take a look at the farm.”

“I . . . I'd probably be jealous,” Dottie admitted. “Seeing all that. And then have to come home,” she laughed lightly.

“Well, funny you should mention that,” Shane said.

***

Dottie and her children sat in the passenger compartment of the large vehicle, their clothing in bags on the floor around them. The kids were excited and talking a mile a minute while she herself was preoccupied with looking at the countryside as they passed, taking note of the damage by the fire and from other sources.

Even as she looked, however, she kept replaying her conversation with Shane Golden in her mind. A chance to live on the Sanders' farm. A school for her children again with a real teacher. Other children their age to play and interact with. Relief from the crushing loneliness of being so isolated with no one around to speak to, or get help from in an emergency.

A doctor. Another godsend right there. A clinic with a real doctor and nurse. A Nurse Practitioner as well, since Patricia Sanders would be there. Safety and security for her children and herself.

When she had asked Shane why he thought of her for something so wonderful, he had just shrugged and said anyone who could do what she had done would have to be a good addition to their operation. That she deserved the offer after all her hard work in keeping herself and her children well through such hard times.

And now, here she was, on her way to see where the people who had helped her had come from. She hadn't imagined just two hours ago when she woke that she might be traveling anywhere for any reason.

It was almost . . . normal.

***

“We should call this the procession of the cow,” Clay decided as a dozen different people walked toward the row of tables bearing large platters of still steaming beef.

“How about we call it lunch and just eat!” Gordy exclaimed, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. It was not to be however, as his grandfather stood near the head of the tables and raised a hand, calling for quiet and for everyone's attention.

“We began this not long ago in an effort to make sure that all of us were included in things,” he said. “We wanted to foster good fellowship among ourselves, to be sure we were being good neighbors, and to encourage not just fellowship but outright friendship as well. To draw us together into one community. A unified, solidified group of people dedicated to surviving in this new time we find ourselves in.

“Some might say after the events of the last few days that we failed in that,” he continued, looking around him and trying to catch everyone at least once with his gaze. “It's true that we've had more than our share of problems it seems, but yet, here we are. Despite everything, we are still here. Yes, we've lost some people. Neighbors, family, dear friends. Some lost to the violence that has swept our lands, some lost to injury, some to their own hands, and a few by decisions of their own making. Friendly fire. Friendly fire, yet no less painful in its application. We all hurt over our losses.

“It is true we’ll miss them. Miss them all,” he was looking at the Webbs as he said that. “All of them had a place here and were instrumental in our being able to move forward. But we will adapt and we will continue to survive.

“We've also had new people come into our midst,” he now looked at Shane Golden, most of the people who had come with him seated in a line running down the table from his seat. “People that we have been able to get to know, people that we can see are contributing to our survival and their own, in some cases even more so or better than those who have left us. Hard working and willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done,” he raised a glass in their direction as a smattering of applause rolled down the rest of the table.

“There will not, no, there cannot be a difference made between new and old. We are all either in this together, or we may as well quit. Hang together or separately as I believe Ben Franklin once said. Sounds good anyway,” he grinned to the laughter that came his way.

“Put aside any differences you have with your neighbor,” Gordon concluded. “Put aside old attitudes that can no longer be sustained if we're to flourish and have any kind of decent life for ourselves, let alone for our kids. This is where we are. We can't change the circumstances we find ourselves in, which means we have to change to conform to them. We have to change, to condition ourselves to meet the new challenges that this kind of life is going to present.” He paused, once more scanning the entire crowd with his gaze.

“And we cannot do that if we're constantly at each other’s throats,” he finished. “So please. Use this time, this day and occasion as it was intended and get to know someone you don't already know. Develop new friendships, strengthen old ones, enjoy this day that the Lord has made and the people he has given us to fellowship with. Please bow with me and let us give thanks.”

***

Dottie Greer felt better than she had in months.

She had arrived at the farms not knowing what to expect and was shocked at everything she saw. Buildings everywhere, people everywhere, children running and playing and laughing, people on guard, dogs protecting everyone and everything . . . it was as if nothing had happened here.

Once she began to see the place up close it was evident that the farm had been affected of course, just as the rest of the world had. Power was still available but was rationed. Vehicles still operated but were used sparingly. She had been taken to the second floor of the middle building and showed a functioning shower, complete with hot water. Their clothing was laundered while she tended her children's hygiene and then her own, delighting in the small offerings from the other women who had brought her those small things to help her feel better.

Now, herself and her children were clean and shining for the first time in too long, dressed in fresh smelling clean clothes that hadn't had to be scrubbed by hand, and facing a table loaded with good food. There was nothing fancy, but it was cooked to perfection. They even had bread!

Wouldn't it be wonderful if she could bring her children to this small haven of safety?

***

“Well, I do sometimes use pressure canning. In fact, I have two pressure canners I inherited. But I also use water bath as well. For some things it seems as if it works better and lasts longer.”

“Well, my grandmother talked about using sorghum molasses as a sweetener when she was a girl, during World War Two. Sugar was rationed back then she said. Of course everything else was as well. Honey can also work, but you have to be careful of what the bees are feeding on, and also not to over sweeten. It's a delicate balance.”

“Dehydration is one of the best things I've found to preserve food long term, especially fruit. If done properly you can store things in something as simple as a plastic container. Even something like an ice cream bucket!”

Dottie felt as if she were being tested in some way. Several of the women had descended on her after lunch was more or less finished, asking her about canning, gardening, dehydration and on, and on. She didn't mind it, really, relishing the chance to talk to them after so long alone save for her children. She could for that one day pretend that all was well and normal in the world.

She loved it.

***

It was before the evening meal, made of leftovers, that Clayton Sanders had approached her. She was slightly wary of him for a number of reasons, not least of which was the fact that she knew for a fact that he had killed a man at Lorrie's Diner the year before. She told herself that was both silly and unfair. It was likely that any of the soldiers living at the farm had killed another man at some point. It was the fact that it had happened at home, so to speak, that made the niggling in her mind stay there.

Another reason was that his man was effectively in charge of everything that was going on. It was on his order that Shane Golden and his team had visited her home and gifted herself and her children with some of the best eating they had enjoyed in recent months. He was the one sending people to Jordan to train a new police force and emergency medical personnel.

All of that made her want to make a good impression on him. Even isolated as she was, it would be wonderful knowing that other people were around and there might be someone to call on for help in a dire emergency.

“Mrs. Greer,” Clay offered his hand. “It's nice to meet you. I've heard many good things about you today. Shane had good things to say as well. You impressed him it seems. Not easy to do.”

Dottie blushed at the compliment, caught off guard by Clay's simple approach and manners. She had expected him to be rougher around the edges.

“Thank you,” she replied. “It's a pleasure to meet you as well. Thank you so much for your help, and for inviting myself and my children to spend this wonderful day with you. I cannot possibly thank you enough!”

“Well, let’s talk about that.”

***

“I'm glad you're down here for supper,” Abby told Jody quietly as the two of them sat a little separate from the others.

“I have enjoyed it,” he nodded, speaking just as softly.

“I’ll have to thank Heath for taking over for you,” Abby grinned. “Especially considering that he and Leanne seemed to have gotten together last night at Deuce's Place,” she laughed. “Poor thing.”

“Heath, or Leanne?” Jody asked in a rare bit of amusement.

“Either. Both,” Abby laughed again. “I thought Leanne was going to become a statue, and Heath was so painfully shy I didn't know if he'd get the words out or not.”

“Good for them,” Jody nodded. “I believe they will be good for one another. It's good to have someone to share burdens with. To share joys with as well. Happiness is born a twin my grandmother told me when I was a child. It is up to us to search that twin out.”

“That's beautiful,” Abby repeated the phrase softly. “I have to write that down when I get home.”

“I will tell you again, should you forget,” Jody smiled ever so slightly, prompting Abby to smile back even as her face pinked a bit.

“Thank you.”

***

“Have you thought about what you’ll do?” Shane asked Dottie Greer as they helped clear away dishes and trash once the evening meal was over. She paused, looking at him.

“Shane, you do know that I 'm married, right?” she asked him carefully.

“Uh, yeah,” Shane frowned a little. “You think you need to stay home so your husband can find you? That would make sense. I hadn't thought about that.”

Dottie almost frowned herself at his reply but suppressed it before it could show. Had she misread Shane's intention somehow?

“I meant . . . it seems like this is really important to you. That I move here, I mean,” she clarified.

“Well, no,” Shane admitted to her carefully. “I mean, sure, if you're interested in whatever Clay offered you then that's awesome. I . . . I just thought that after all that time alone, just you and your children, you might want the chance to be part of even a small community again. You worked hard to get your family this far on your own. I felt like you deserved a chance like this. But I mean, only if you want it,” he hastened to add, afraid he had somehow overstepped his bounds.

“For God's sake, Shane,” Trudy Leighton burst into the conversation. “Can you not see that she's worried you're trying to hit on her? Give him a minute or two to catch up,” she told a red-faced Dottie. “He's always been just a tad slow. My uncle dropped him a lot when he was small, so that may-,”

“Dammit, Trudy, did anyone ask you to stick your over-sized nose anywhere in this conversation?” Shane fumed.

“Just trying to help the handicapped,” Trudy raised her hands in supplication as she backed away. “My bad.” She turned and departed, clearly happy with her work. Shane grumbled as she went, watching her for a minute before turning back to Dottie.

“I'm sorry about that,” he told her. “She's always saying inappropriate shi-, er . . . stuff, like that.”

“Well, in this case she was right,” Dottie admitted. “I am worried that was what this is.”

“Uh . . . no,” Shane shook his head. “Not that you aren't very nice and all, but . . . I did know you were married and, uh . . . well, there's someone else I'm trying very hard to talk to, so . . . no.” By the time he'd finished stammering out his answer Dottie was laughing.

“I'm sorry, Shane,” she told him. “So much miscommunication. I just . . . I was wrong, that's all.”

“Well, that's cool,” Shane shrugged. “But no, it's not like that. Just . . . trying to help someone I thought deserved it. That's all.”

“I sincerely appreciate that,” Dottie nodded. “So let me ask you something . . . ”

***

“So kiddos, have you had a good day today?” Dottie asked as she settled her two children in for the night in an empty room in building two.

“Yeah!” both replied in unison.

“So let me ask you something, then,” she knelt down beside them. “Would you like to come live here? Leave our house and come stay here all the time?”

They looked at her in silence for so long that she was beginning to think they hadn't understood that she was asking them for their opinion. Just as she was about to ask again, Quentin spoke.

“Can I bring my Legos?”

“Yes, buddy,” she laughed just a little. “You can bring you blocks.”

“What about my stuffed animals?” Helena asked next, worried looking.

“I would imagine we will bring everything here and stay,” she told them.

“What about our garden and stuff?” Quentin asked.

“Well, there's a big garden here, but we would probably go and gather from that garden as well,” Dottie replied, though she didn't know how practical that would end up being. “You guys think about it tonight and we’ll talk about it again tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay!”

***

Dottie Greer left the farm the next morning followed by a semi-truck and a half-dozen people to help load her belongings and bring them back to the Sanders' ranch. Before leaving she had ventured to the square on the hill to examine the house left empty when the 'boys' had moved into the bunkhouse. She was accompanied by Amy Mitchell. The two women examined the house together as they got to know each other a little better. By the time they had come down from the hilltop they had decided that the two women and three children could share the house without any difficulty. It would give Amy and her daughter Lisa much more room than they had in their small 'apartment' in Building Two, and there would be more than enough room for Dottie and her children as well.

By the time the group helping Dottie had returned with her belongings, their new housemates were already in place. By dark, everyone was moved in and settled.

Clay had gotten permission from Dottie to place someone else in her house if they had someone suitable to watch over her garden and perhaps keep an eye out for movement in that direction. It wasn't close enough to the interstate for an observation point, but it would possibly make a good place for the people on such a duty to bunk down.

So much shuffling had left plenty of room in Building Two. As a result, Kurtis Montana, Shane Golden and even Xavier Adair became residents of the second floor.

***

“Man, am I glad the game of musical houses is over!” Clay dropped tiredly into a chair out in front of Building Two. He pulled his hat off and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“Like you did any of that work,” Jose snorted, sitting beside him.

“I supervised, man,” Clay pointed out as he replaced his hat. “That shit is stressful. 'Go here, do that, put this there'. I'm telling you, it will wear you down,” he was shaking his head slowly.

“You are so full of shit,” Jose snorted. “But I'm like you. I'm glad we seem to have put all this drama behind us. It's too distracting.”

“Run drills tomorrow,” Clay said suddenly. “Out of nowhere. Full alert, all people to their posts or shelters. Once it's done, send everyone on the security detail through their own drills. Everyone in the unit to run the gauntlet, too.”

“Everyone?” Jose raised an eyebrow.

“Me too,” Clay nodded. “We're getting soft. If we aren't careful, we’ll pay for it. Tomorrow we work like we mean it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“Push further north,” Shirley ordered the three team leaders before him. “Follow all three of these highways. As you approach the state line, make your own judgment, but if it looks clear, then dip across and see what you can see.”

“Yes sir,” all three nodded. “How far do we go?” one asked.

“As far as you can safely go,” Shirley ordered. “We've lost a full platoon up there somewhere with three vehicles, and now we've lost a patrol that was following a target. The missing platoon had an armored truck with a machine gun. Whatever they ran into was mean enough to stop that. So be alert the whole way and keep your head on a swivel.” He paused briefly before continuing.

“And be on the lookout for signs of that patrol,” he said finally. “My niece was leading it and Gene was with her. I'd like to know what happened to them at least.”

“Yes sir,” all three said again.

“That's all. On your way.”

***

No one liked being on such a patrol into unknown territory. The North Alabama People's Militia preferred to go into areas that were already 'pacified', where there was little to no danger. But, no one wanted to tell the Powers That Be 'no', so go they did.

The patrol that drew Interstate 65 in the highway lotto was led by a man called Zee. No one knew what it stood for, and since Zee tended to be a disagreeable and generally violent son-of-a-bitch, no one asked him, either. Zee's patrol contained an even dozen people, himself included, and rode in three vehicles; one four door truck, one older model Suburban, and a panel van that carried their heavier gear and equipment when they planned to be in the field overnight.

“Why are you slowing?” Zee asked his driver. “What is it?” he looked forward.

“There's a line of cars across the highway,” his driver, a woman named Wendy, pointed over the steering wheel of the old Ford truck. “No way that was an accident, and there's no way through I can see. And those vehicles are burned,” she pointed again. “They also look like the vehicles Shirley's niece had.”

“Stop here,” Zee ordered as they drew within fifty yards. He stepped down, waving his arm in circle over his head. Soon he was joined by everyone other than the drivers of the three vehicles.

“You three, cover from here,” he snapped out orders. “You three, move right of the burned out van. You two come with me down the left. Be on your guard. This doesn't look new, but that doesn't mean there isn't more.”

They spent five minutes moving slowly to where the burned out hulks sat in the road, blocking the way.

“Oh, man,” someone said behind Zee as he looked into the van. The heat from the fire, probably an explosion, had welded the door shut, but had also burst the windows. It was easy to see inside. There were four bodies, still in their seats. The smell of burned flesh was still present, though thankfully not as bad as it could have been.

“Poor bastards,” someone else muttered. “Never knew what hit them, I bet.”

“Move up,” Zee didn't bother to correct them. They were likely right. Half a minute later they were looking at what Zee was sure was, or at least had been, Eugene.

“We're missing Emily,” a woman named Fran noted, looking around the vehicle. “No sign of her at all.”

“And the passenger door is open,” someone observed, pointing to the passenger door.

“Maybe she ran off?”

“Where would she run to?”

“Quiet,” Zee ordered before the argument could devolve. “I doubt she ran off, which means she lived through whatever this was and was probably taken, or else crawled off to die. Spread out, fifty yards north and then turn, walking the highway back to at least fifty yards behind here. If there's no sign of her, we keep going. Butch, see where we can make a hole in this little traffic jam so we can move on.”

The team spread out to follow his orders. Zee watched for a minute, making sure everything was moving like it should be. As he started to move in and join the search, 'Butch' called him. Joining the larger man, Zee found himself looking at a twisted piece of metal.

“So?” he asked after waiting for an explanation.

“This was done by a Claymore mine,” Butch said simply, pointing to two jagged holes left in what had once been a car fender. He then produced a darkened ball bearing, flattened on one side.

“How do you know?” Zee demanded.

“I seen it before,” Butch didn't quite smirk. “Whoever they ran into has military grade equipment, Zee,” he added more seriously. “Could be National Guard, or some kinda rogue outfit, or maybe they even stole it. But this was definitely done by a M18 Claymore. Looking at the damage, I'd say more than one, and that this wasn't the only thing. That car,” he pointed to the opposite side of the vehicles, “was turned over by the blast I'd wager.”

“How can you know that?” Zee asked, seeing the car in question on its side.

“Damage is done on the side and not the bottom, which is exposed to us,” Butch shrugged. “Was I a guessing man, I'd say whoever did this planned this little ambush just perfect. And Laverne drove right through it.”

“Don't let William hear you say that,” Zee reminded him.

“William ain't here, and neither is his niece,” Butch shrugged. “And him hearing me say it wouldn't change things none. Anyway, we should be able to push this car aside with the Ford's bumper,” he decided to stop trying to get Zee to pay attention.

“Go ahead and get that working, then,” Zee nodded.

“Yes sir.”

***

With no luck on locating a body, Zee had slowly taken his patrol further north in search of information. He didn't like it, but the other two patrols would meet them just north of the state line into Tennessee. If he stopped before then he'd be called chicken shit for it, and he wasn't going to let that happen.

He needn't have worried. His team made the rendezvous first. Stopping, everyone bailed out of the vehicles to stretch their legs and some to make a nature call.

“Look!” Zee heard someone call and instinctively looked north, expecting a threat.

What he saw instead were buzzards circling. Many, many buzzards.

“That's odd,” it was Butch again.

“Why?”

“Nothing should be left out here to attract their attention,” the other man noted. “No more traffic to hit animals, and no more people left, assuming any were dead in this area and didn't just walk out. No reason for them to be there.” He looked at Zee.

“There might be one reason,” Zee nodded grimly. “Butch, get two more and let’s go take a look. Rest of you stay here. We’ll be back momentarily.”

It was a quiet ride, made quieter by the tension felt inside the truck. Soon they arrived to where several buzzards were gathered around something on the ground. Zee hopped out of the truck and shot two of the large birds, scaring the others into taking flight. Butch frowned at the careless use of the rifle but said nothing. It was Zee's patrol, not his.

“Damn,” everyone said at roughly the same time as the odor of a long dead body reached their nostrils. Covering his mouth and nose with his shirt, Zee followed Butch to the body. Butch had elected to cover his face with a bandanna instead.

They found a body lying in the median, face down. The vultures had done a good job but it was still possible to say the body was probably female. She had likely been a prisoner somewhere, considering what was left of her dress, apparently a tow sack of all things.

“How in the hell are we supposed to know-,” Zee began, only to be cut off when Butch grabbed his arm and pointed.

Emily Shirley had a tattoo. She had gotten it one weekend while on a bender, on a dare from a friend. She had marched into a tattoo parlor in Huntsville and propped her ankle up, demanding the letter 'L', in the cursive script Penny Marshal had worn on the old Laverne and Shirley show, be tattooed on her ankle. She had regretted the tattoo once she sobered, but as anyone can tell you, after the fact is too late. She had been forced to deal with the stupid tattoo ever since.

Today it served to identify her body when there was no other way to do so.

Zee looked on for another few seconds before turning and losing his lunch all over the highway.

***

It was quiet on the way back. Fran had used a smart phone camera that had avoided the destruction to take a picture of the tattoo before Zee ordered his men to bury the remains. No one wanted to do it, but no one wanted to tell William Shirley they had left his niece on the highway to be eaten by buzzards, either.

Zee had presented his report quickly and concisely, placing the camera phone down with the tattoo already showing.

“Where?” William said softly after a minute. Zee went to the map and placed a push pin into it.

“About here, sir,” he said simply. “Just north of the rendezvous.”

“And where would you say you found her team?”

“Here, sir,” Zee placed another pin. “Just north of this mile marker. They were hit in a planned ambush. Probably with military grade weapons. Explosives, anyway.”

“I see,” Shirley nodded slowly. “What did you . . . ”

“We buried her on the side of the road, sir,” Zee replied to the unfinished question. “We marked the spot and left a crude marker there to identify her.”

“Very well,” the older man nodded again. “That will be all, Zee. Thank you.”

“Yes sir,” Zee didn't want to linger and left as quickly as he could without making it look like it was quickly.

Shirley sat staring at the map for a long time after Zee had departed.

***

William Shirley barely noticed when Eugene's father, Bart Adams, literally stalked into the office.

“I'm hearing rumors that-,”

“It's not a rumor,” William said softly. “Emily and Eugene are both dead. Eugene died in an explosion that was probably an ambush. Emily was taken prisoner but apparently later executed.”

“What?” Adams was stunned. He had expected to be told it was all bullshit.

“I want to send a stronger force north,” William said softly. “I'm going to create a new platoon level unit from the patrols that were out today. Send them and another of equal size north together. Strong enough for whatever is up there that keeps killing our people. We have to go north sooner or later for supplies, so we may as well clean it out now, right? That work for you, Bart?”

“Work for me?” Adams' voice was hard and quiet. “My son is dead, Shirley. I want whoever did it nailed to a wall somewhere. Anywhere. Hell yes it works for me.”

“I’ll start putting the mission together then,” William Shirley had never taken his eyes from the map on his wall. “Maybe two or three days, but that's all. Then we see what's up there,” he suddenly stabbed the spot on the map that Zee had circled.

“Then we see.”

THE END

FROM THE AUTHOR

I mean, who else would be writing a note at the end of this thing other than me, right?

As I said in the foreword, this was exhausting. I knew it would be difficult before I ever started, but I underestimated the degree of difficulty. I think there might have been one other book that I worked harder on than this one. Ever.

In order to set up the next arcs, there had to be a great deal of transition. Some of the dialogue was tough to get right, and sometimes I'm still not sure it's where I wanted it. This book was much longer than previous Fire novels, and it was always going to be that way due to so much change. Almost another novels worth in the end. 130K words. Nearly a Parno novel.

I hope you felt it was worth the wait. I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope it made you excited to see what else was coming in the future.

I want to take just a second to thank all of you so much for your support, encouragement and with this book in particular, your patience. I doubt I will ever be able to find the proper words to describe how much all of you mean to me. You humble me constantly with your appreciation of my creations, and I am literally at a loss for words to tell you how that makes me feel. Odd for a fellow that uses words for a living, I know. But it's still the way it is.

Thank you all.

NC REED